Caleb will be seven years old in a few weeks. But as a child with Sensory Processing Disorder, his connection to the world around him is so muddied that he rarely picks up on social context or the emotional subtexts of a situation.
Last night, however, something clicked. And if it isn't a one-time event, it will change the rest of his life.
The Social Connection
If you have ever travelled to a foreign country, or even another city where things felt very foreign, you know "that feeling." It's a feeling where there are so many things happening around you, so many unfamiliar sights and sounds (and languages, perhaps) that you simply cannot soak it all in. It is easy to become disoriented or irritated. Your ability to detect and remember nuanced details is often impaired as well.
Many children with SPD feel that way all the time. The neurological difficulties in processing multisensory inputs keep them in a constant state of disorientation. As a result, the nuances of social situations and relationships -- what we call "social cues" -- can often escape them entirely. Lets face it, if your brain is struggling to figure out where you are in space and how to manage a jumble of unusable visual and auditory information, reading body language is a pretty low priority.
One of the fascinating aspects of the program at the Sensory Learning Center is that when a patient's brain starts to coordinate the various senses for the first time, other seemingly unrelated perceptions appear. One of them, it seems, is often a new ability to read social situations and express profound emotions.
Towards the end of the treatment cycle, one of the colors used in the light therapy at the Sensory Learning Center is a gorgeous violet. Mary Bolles, the creator of the program, warned me that children often have strong emotional reactions when exposed to the violet light, particularly those of sadness. By this time in the treatment, a patient's physical and emotional awareness start to link in ways they never have before.
I have to admit I didn't think this would apply to my son.
Caleb, you see, doesn't get sad very easily. Angry tears may flow, but I have rarely seen him sad. We have been at many farewells with aging relatives, but they won't upset him unless I carefully explain he probably won't see great-grandma again. Aside from that, his good-byes have always pleasant, if not simply matter-of-fact. Even when my wife went to Kenya for two weeks, he didn't shed a tear.
A Different Farewell
This past weekend I took care of Caleb by myself, staying at the hotel, going to the Center for his sessions and then finding fun things to do in between. On Sunday night it was time for me to drive home, trading off "Caleb duty" with my parents for the weekdays.
When they arrived, I gave Caleb a hug goodbye as I have done countless times in the past. I was upbeat and smiling, expecting the casual parting we have always had. Then my unflappable son, the boy who only cries when he's very angry or very hurt, broke down and wept in my arms to see me go.
When I finally pulled away from Caleb and left the hotel, he cried for another half-hour, wailing at the realization that he wouldn't see me for "two whole days." He was inconsolable for the rest of the night.
This may not sound like much, but it is keenly significant. Everybody was smiling and hugging hello's or goodbye's -- a cheerful scene on the face of it. For the first time in his life, Caleb looked past the overt, read the subtext of a social situation, and connected his own emotions to it. My little boy finally saw the invisible -- but real -- truth that partings are such sweet sorrow. It is a sign that his brain is reorganizing, and I have no idea what will come next.
