Words He Cannot Say

I write with no intent for sympathy. I write with no intent of money or to be pennywise. I write because these words may never be spoken otherwise. I write because I love so deeply. And I write because it cleans me.

Have you ever seen a disabled person in public, and wondered what you could possibly do to help? I mean, apart from embarrassingly staring at them because of your curiosity. (I have this problem with little people, also known as dwarfism.) I did not know the answer to my leading question for most of my life. Until one night my father and I were taking my brother, Seamus, out to dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant in New Baden, Illinois, called Margaritas.

My brother has several mental and health disorders that are as obvious as an elephant in the room. Seamus can be very loud in public, but usually nobody complains. The Hispanic restaurant staff loves Seamus, and as soon as we walk into the front door, there is a fresh bowl of queso and chips waiting for Seamus at his favorite table.

Anyways, we finish our very typical dinner, and when my father asks for the bill, our waitress tells us it has already been paid for. We ask who, and my dad starts to get a little frazzled. The waitress tells us that it was an anonymous payment made in cash. This may sound like a simple and random act of kindness, but to me it was much more. I was overwhelmed and I began crying immediately. It meant so much because not only did this anonymous person reach out to my brother, but he/she reached out to me, and my father.

We, the family of Seamus, are the ones who probably struggle almost as much as he does. We struggle because of the deep and profound love we carry for him. Because every time we get a call from his group home about him having to be taken to the hospital by ambulance, our hearts sink.

I never had the chance to thank the person who touched my family’s hearts that night. That human being made me believe in the human race just a little bit more. Next time you want to help, maybe you can remember this story. Maybe you can make another person believe in the human race just a little bit more.

You may have been attracted to the title, and if that is so, then you are wondering who cannot speak, or why he cannot speak. Maybe you were attracted to the picture, because it certainly isn’t boring. So let my explain.

The man who cannot speak is Seamus, he is the boy who is looking to the left in the photograph. He was born with no diagnosis. And when he was 4, he was diagnosed as severe on the Autism Spectrum disorder. After the first diagnosis, he stopped talking completely. He uses very limited sign language to communicate. Seamus typically communicates by taking someone’s hand, and leading them to his desired activity, such as food, water, pool, bath, or his bed. Soon after we learned about the Autism, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. And from the day of the first diagnosis, my life began. I know many things, but the most profound thing I know is Autism.

I write with no intent for sympathy. I write with no intent of money or to be pennywise. I write because these words may never be spoken otherwise. I write because I love so deeply. And I write because it cleans me.