My Son is Nonverbal

Although I’m not supposed to use that term anymore.

My son is nonverbal. Although I’m not supposed to use that term anymore. The preferred term is ‘non-speaking.’ But truthfully, I am tired of arguing about descriptions so I will just explain. I think it’s easier that way.

My son is thirteen years old. And he has very few actual words. It’s hard to believe but it’s important to understand. It’s important to take a glimpse into someone’s life sometimes. That’s how we learn.

He can say his name if asked. Cooper. He makes a sound for each letter. Six sounds. The two o’s consistent. But the sounds don’t match the letters.

I know he’s reading as he says it. As if the letters are above his head and he plucks them down one by one. He can say his brother’s names in his own way. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Every time my heart bursts. It will never get old. He has a few other words too. But not a lot.

He doesn’t speak willingly though. He’s never told us his favorite color or why he loves trains. He’s never said goodnight mom as I pause at his bedroom door or yelled I love you from the front door. He can’t always ask for help or tell me if he’s scared or if his ear hurts. It’s like the words get stuck inside. Unwilling to come out.

He yells a lot too. He has too. So, people will listen.

Nonverbal. Non-speaking. No words. That part gutted me the most 8 years ago. My heart has bled. My eyes have leaked. I’ve wished and hoped and prayed. I’ve been angry and sad and bargained. But it’s not about me. I’ve learned that.

It’s about him.