Susan Senator

You didn’t know it, you didn’t think it could be done
In the final end he won the wars
After losing
Every battle.
–Bob Dylan, Idiot Wind

You know when people say, “…Then the terrorists will have won,” they mean that we should not be stopped by our fears of attack, we should not stay cowering in our homes just because of the new threat of terrorism. We should, instead, live our lives but perhaps with a bit more of a sense of the reality of the preciousness and possible brevity of life.

This phrase ran through my head, uncontrollably, as I returned to my driveway with Nat and Ben in the car, my plan to go to the track in utter shambles. Nat was bellowing/howling/shrieking because I suppose he did not want to go, because I sprung it on him, because it is spring and the lighting is intense and beautiful, because his meds are not quite right, because he wanted to just lie around the house staring into space, because because because because because….

I had just explained that I can’t always give into Nat’s tantrums because then he would never grow in his experiences, and he would learn that this is the way to get out of doing anything he didn’t want to do.

But Nat was screaming his head off and Ben suddenly burst into tears, saying, “Can’t you just give into him? Can’t you just give in?”

If I give in, I am reinforcing that lesson, I thought. The terrorists will have won.

But Ben was crying! How could I place the value of Nat’s lesson learned over Ben’s pain? So I turned around and we went back in the house; I felt like I’d been kicked in the ass. I was seething with my impotence.

I had a small, mean pyrrhic victory, where I insisted that Nat go in slowly and quietly, and made him stop and help me with the laundry. I watched with twisted, ugly satisfaction as he obeyed my orders with shaky deference.

After we folded the laundry together, I told him to go find something to do. I was finished with him. I was still angry, and my heart hurt, too. I asked Ben to come inside my bedroom. I said, “I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Why? Because you let him live?”
I swallowed hard. “Uh, no, because I let him scare you.”
“Oh.”
“You’re probably angry him, at me? At God? At autism?”
Ben nodded.
“So am I.”

We sat there for another moment, and then he said, “Okay then.” And he started talking about Kingdom Hearts, how he was winning, and was even doing better than Max.

Nat is now perfectly calm. I’m going to try again soon, but maybe without Ben in the car. Some wars are too important to lose.