A Bittersweet Birthday

Well, here we go. Another year, another birthday for Jack, another birthday he won’t even know he’s having, another part of his childhood he’s not getting.

Jack, in case you don’t know, is my middle child. He’s the name behind Operation Jack, the name of my mission and my foundation and this site and the reason for everything good I’m going to try to do between now and the day I take my final breath. He’s severely autistic, still in diapers, still not really talking. He cries every day and has frequent meltdowns and wears a padded helmet at the dinner table to protect himself from himself.

On Sunday, he’s turning 9, not that he knows. Shoot, he doesn’t know he’s 8 or that he gets older. He knows the happy birthday song, but lately he doesn’t much like it. We’ll see what he thinks when we sing it for him this weekend. There won’t be a big party for him, because we’re in Colorado now and the rest of the family is in California. It doesn’t much matter, though — when we used to have parties for him, he’d just space off and do his own thing. He didn’t know or care that there was a party going on. Actually, he does like blowing out candles on a cake whether or not it’s his, even though I’d seriously doubt he understands the significance.

Actually, Tiffany is planning on doing something for him with the kids in the neighborhood to celebrate anyways. I’m not sure what — Tiff plans that stuff and I go along for the ride. We want to do something to celebrate, even if he doesn’t know. He’s a special little guy who works hard and deserves something. She’s talked about baking something and having all the kids play. He’ll have something gluten-free and casein-free because his damaged insides have forced him into a very limited diet.

It’s kind of bittersweet celebrating his birthday. On one hand, we love him and he’s just as much our child as Ben and Ava. He’s a human being and just as worthy of a celebration. But on the flip side, it’s a killer that he has no clue. It’s like he’s on a hidden-camera show, not knowing what’s going on but everybody else is in on it.

This one will be tough, just because of the math of it. He’s turning 9, 50 percent of the way to 18. The sands in the hourglass that is his childhood keep falling to the bottom and the majority is now on the bottom. We keep fighting for him, trying everything we can to make things better. We got into battles on his behalf as recently as yesterday. We keep thinking the day is going to come that he’s going to get better. But there’s no denying, at this point, that he’s had a joyless childhood and it’s halfway gone. I remember my 9th birthday — I had a party at Skateway with 30 kids from my class at school. Jack not being aware of his birthday is just another reminder that his childhood has been ruined.

When he was 5, we thought he was going to talk by 8. Now that he’s 9, I’m guessing that maybe we’ll converse with him by the time he’s 11? Talking is going to be the biggest key, because we’ll know what’s upsetting him and what’s on his mind. It will decrease his frustrations and self-injurious behaviors. I can’t imagine it’s going to happen by his next birthday. But we’ll celebrate it anyways. Even if he won’t know it’s hist birthday, he deserves the celebration.