20. How to Save a Life
How to Save a Life
Handwritten letter from "John Smith"
Two Weeks Later
October 16, 1998
Sweet Charlotte,
I know you think sending non-urgent personal mail via courier is a waste of resources, But this is weighing on me, and I needed to tell you now, not wait for you to turn on your phone at nine p.m.
I got the results of Henry’s neuropsych evaluation. He’s on the autism spectrum.
With therapy, he can learn techniques to cope with his triggers, and he can develop skills to help him navigate a world that he experiences differently than others do.
Therapy is the absolute least of what I’d do for him. If he needed me to vanquish every zipper and provide a bubble for him to live in set at exactly 72 degrees Fahrenheit, I’d do it. Luckily, it won’t come to that.
Thank you for being my sassy Charlotte who speaks her mind. No one but you would have dared to suggest I seek professional help for him.
I saw his actions as misbehavior, even disrespect. The guilt is eating me alive. When I think of all the times I told him to “deal with it” or “stop being weird” about something when he was suffering or confused, I feel sick to my stomach.
You were also right about the watch. Gabriel confessed this morning. Henry found it on the hearth. He didn’t break it. I should have listened to you. I took privileges for a week for something he didn’t do. How does a person make up for something like that? My apology felt like nothing but air. He just looked at me when I asked him to forgive me. Then he said, “My chest still hurts about it. Maybe when my heart feels better.”
I failed him. I damaged his sense of self-worth and his ability to trust me. His life was harder, not better, because of my choices. I held him back from thriving because I allowed my expectations of who I thought he should be to take precedence over who he is.
Goddamn it, Charlotte. I wish you were here.
Love, Sir