Bonds and Connections

Mrs. Lake ripped the envelope open. She heard her husband, Jake, grumble from the dining room, “if they are begging for money again, don’t give them any,” he said.

Mrs. Lake put on her glasses. The letter read:

“Dear Parent and Patron!

You are cordially invited to a charity dinner to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of the inception of the grounds breaking Facilitated Communication tool at our Institution.

Your donation of $150 per plate will go a long way, as there are innumerable children who need your support, and their numbers are on the rise. Please honour us with your presence, on …” and the usual time, date and other details.

Mrs. Lake looked out the window. She saw the swing that their son, without uttering a single word, would use day in and day out. It idly swayed in the gentle wind.

Mrs. Lake said loudly, to her husband, “don’t worry, sweety, they are not asking for money. They invited us to dinner. You want to come?” She was sure he would not, as the event fell on a Saturday, and he would not miss his golf tee-off for the world.

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She got herself in her best dress, with as many of her gold and gemstone accoutrements as she possibly could hang on herself; she cleaned up, she made up, she dressed up.

At the dinner she was fortunate to be seated together with old friends, whom she all remembered from the past. Of the old gang, Mrs. Curtis had passed away, the Fergusons moved to Victoria, British Columbia, and the Cavanaghs were in… erm, the word was that they embezzled their real estate company’s retirement, pencil eraser and carbon paper funds.

But those who were there, chatted, and ate, and they admired and praised each other’s children. The children who were in their thirties to fifties now, ate, stared into their life’s void in front of them, and some had to be restrained not to be given knives and forks, for safety reasons.

There was a speech, and the parents were asked, on a volunteer basis, to provide testimonials.

Mrs. Green said her daughter finished school, and became a veterinary assistant. An enthusiastic clapping of hands was the response by the attendees. Mr. Roberts said their son became a boat-building apprentice, and he has been employed steadily at the marina for seven years now. Applause. Mr. Shamarek said his sister now walks dogs for a living, and does the occasional house-sitting.

Mrs. Lake walked to the podium, and grabbed the microphone. The room went quiet, very quiet. She looked over the crowd of parents and patrons, and after a short pause she began to talk.

“First of all, I would like to congratulate the parents and thank the institute for raising our children to levels where they can function in society. Autism research has come a long way, and we are reaping its rewards.” She paused. “On a more personal note, on a very personal note, as most of you already know, our son committed suicide.” She paused again. “In his twenties, when the girl of his dreams would not respond kindly to his feelings.” She paused again. “But I don’t want to dwell on that. I want to tell you, instead, a happy event.” The room was hushed. “When he first started to come to this institute for treatment, he learned facilitated communication. He made brilliant progress on learning to use the board with letters that he pointed at in sequence to spell out words with the caregiver’s hand on his. On my first visit after that, when we sat down to the board, he spelled… he spelled…” she was choking back tears, “he spelled out “I love you, Mom.””

And Mrs. Lake staggered back to her chair, her face mirroring the eternal sorrow of a thousand lost souls.