Silent Symphony

I wrote this for a dear friend, who is the parent of an autistic child. It’s one of the many things we have in common and I’m so thankful for her friendship. Sometimes it can be hard to get people to see past the autism and appreciate the magnanimous wonder that is your baby. If this is your journey, know that every child has a voice- and no one understands them better than their mother.

Silent Symphony

No one else may hear it, but there is a symphony in your silence.

There is melody in your movements. A tip of the head or touch of the mouth. A flicker of your fingers play the keys in your chord. Often considered a cacophony, but I can hear your chorus. 

Accepted is the unspoken language in paints, film and dance. Dialogues that stream in your mind are inaudible, yet study you like sheet music and I can keep the cadence. 

Beethoven couldn’t hear a note when he composed Symphony No. 9. He sawed off piano legs to feel closer to the vibrations. How close were we to never knowing music’s greatest work had he not been allowed that accommodation?

Your masterpiece already arranged is lost trying to harmonize in a world so unfair. Slow down now and listen close, you yearn to make us aware.
Methods applied to curb your conduct never consider you the Conductor. What would happen if we followed your baton? Lessons I’m learning as your mother.

I’ve been stripped of my materialistic definitions. I mourned them before I realized you loved me without knowing those positions. Gone is my profession, possessions, hubris and expectations. My truest self reflects back at me through this work of dedication.

So when the house lights dim and the orchestra has gone, I will play your silent symphony, for you are my swansong. 

My courageous boy, my one man band, however the scales may change-

Together, we will build a place where you always belong onstage.