The Things We Cannot Say(73)

I was beyond scared. But if Tomasz was going, I didn’t really have a choice, because staying behind wasn’t even an option anymore.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”



CHAPTER 24

Alice


I spend the next thirty-six hours in a panicked marathon of desperate organizing that amuses my daughter and confuses my son. Eddie watches me silently as I search the web for ways to communicate to him that Mommy is going away. In the end, I write a social script that Wade can give him each day to remind Eddie where I am, then create a calendar of days he can count down. I write strict instructions to Wade to mark off a day each morning so Eddie can see how many sleeps are left. I print out a photo of myself and stick it at the end, then color all around it in bright green highlighter for emphasis.

When I’m done, I look into my son’s beautiful green eyes and I burst into tears. Eddie ponders this for a moment, then he silently walks away. He returns a few minutes later with his iPad in his hand and asks:

Mommy hurt?

I calm myself down, assure him that I’m okay, set him in front of Thomas the Tank Engine and start documenting his routine for Wade. I try to strike a balance between wanting Wade to do everything just right, and just giving him the basics so that he can get through each day. The problem is, with Eddie, there’s not really such a thing as “just good enough.” Everything does have to be just right. I know Wade doesn’t get that, so I know he won’t respect it. I have no idea what’s going to happen with my son while I’m away.

In the seven years since he was born, the whole world has changed for me. I joined a club I never wanted to be a part of—the autism mom’s club—and its membership cost was the life I’d planned until then. Someone once told me that having a child with autism was like taking a trip to another country where you don’t speak the language, and at the time, I thought that analogy was clever and fitting. But over the last few years as the extent of Eddie’s disability really became apparent, I’ve wondered if instead of being in a whole other country, I’m on a whole new planet.

Now I’m leaving Eddie for six whole nights. I’m traveling through time, back to a phase in my life when I didn’t have a son who commanded the vast bulk of my focus. Will I miss him? Will I fret for him? Or the most frightening possibility of all—will I feel relief to be unburdened of the responsibility for his care? I love Eddie—God, I adore him. But so often when I think about the life I have with my son, I feel completely alone and endlessly overwhelmed.

The spiteful part of me hopes that in the next six days, Wade gets a taste of what that’s like. That’s the part of me that knows all of this documentation I’m doing about Eddie’s routine is pointless, because my husband is far too arrogant to bother to follow it.

I have a PhD, Ally. I can handle a few days with two kids.

It’s the casual dismissal of the complexity of my role in our family that goads me—rarely spoken so explicitly, but implicit in so many of our interactions over the last few years. Even now, when Wade is very much in my good books for how supportive he’s being, I know he’s underestimating the difficulty of what he’s signed up for in this coming week.

And I’m chiefly concerned about Eddie, but Callie factors into this equation too. She’s a beautiful little girl, but her giftedness is a challenge of its own sometimes. She’s a terror when she’s understimulated so her schedule is jam-packed, and her mind runs at a million miles an hour all of the time. That needs careful monitoring, because when it all overwhelms her, she tends to melt down. Wade’s never really had to deal with that side of her. What would he even do if she was upset?

I draw in a deep breath and promise myself that whatever happens, they will survive. They will all survive. And so will I.

I’ve organized everything I can organize, I’ve emailed the tour guide everything she needed, and I’ve packed with military precision—but the minute we step into the airport, the enormity of what I’m leaving behind settles around me like a heavy fog, and suddenly, that’s all I can think about. I feel only dread and anxiety and regret—what a stupid, impulsive thing I’ve done! What if something happens to Eddie or Callie and I’m on the other side of the planet? It would take me days to get home. And—my God—what if something happens to Babcia? What do I really think I’m going to find for her, anyway? I don’t even know what she’s looking for.

“Alice,” Wade says suddenly.

I turn to him, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m audibly hyperventilating. He grips my upper arms, and he stares down at me.

“I will not let you down,” he says softly. “The kids will be fine. I promise you.”

“This was a mistake,” I breathe. “I was impulsive and angry and I’m upset—”

“No,” he interrupts me, but he does so gently, carefully. I’m struck by the tenderness in his voice, and I trail off my protestations to let him take his time before he explains. He draws in a deep breath, then he lifts his hand from my upper arm to cup my face gently between his palms. “In these past few years, you’ve lived and breathed our family. You’re a wonderful wife. A brilliant mother. But... Ally...” He draws in another soft breath, then his gaze grows pleading. “As great as that is, that’s not all you wanted to be, honey. I know this trip is for Babcia. But... I also... I kind of hope it’s also for you. A chance for you to drop some of the heaviness of our family life and for me to catch it, so you can pick up something else too. I’ve been doing some thinking since we talked the other night. Never for a second of our life together have you asked me to put my stuff second. Well, this week I want you to know what that feels like, so you can know that I do appreciate it. Maybe...we can figure all of this out and share the load of it better one day. I don’t know what that looks like, or how we do it, but I want to be a better husband for you. A better Dad...for...for Eddie.”