MELTDOWN IN MY HEART
BY
TRACIE TAYLOR
WITH PAT BANTA KREML

The morning started out in a mad dash because I did something I never do. I overslept. For most people, that wouldn’t be such a big deal, but my ten year old son, Rett, is autistic. Autistic children have difficulty with communication. In some ways they are locked inside themselves, unable to access the normal channels of communication to reach the outside world. Sudden changes in routine frighten them because they cannot process the outside stimuli quickly enough to respond. Any disruption in routine frustrates and angers Rett and usually results in a domino effect ending in a meltdown.

I knew my one mistake could ruin Rett’s whole day. How could I have let this happen? I knew Rett needed a certain amount of time to get ready for school. How could I have landed us in this predicament? I absolutely had to avoid any more interruptions. At this point I should have calmed down and taken the situation to the Lord in prayer, but I was too busy beating myself up over my own human frailty to see it. As I helped Rett get dressed, I kept repeating, “Mom overslept, so we need to hurry, okay?”

“Okay,” he droned, but didn’t move any faster.

For a while, I thought we were making progress. Rett sat with one shoe off and one shoe on. Then I heard the bus honk. Oh no, he’s going to miss the bus! He can’t miss the bus. That would be too much for his poor little mind to handle. I had to do something. Needless to say, I was not in faith. I ran out and motioned for the driver to please wait a minute. If Rett didn’t get to ride the bus to school, he would surely have a meltdown. I scurried back into the house, helped him put on his other shoe, then rushed him out the door. Too late. The bus was gone.

“Oh, no!” Rett cried. “It’s gone!” His obvious distress confirmed my worst fears. A meltdown was inevitable.

Still, I tried to defuse the situation. “That’s okay, bud. Mom will take you this morning.” I used my most soothing voice.

Silence.

I looked at Rett’s disappointed little face and waited. I fully expected him to jump up and down and flap his arms. To emit high pitched squeals and pace from one end of the room to the other repeating, “Oh, no. Oh, no…” each declaration more agitated than the last; each punctuated by a self-inflicted slap to the head. I braced myself. Once started, the agitation would escalate into an uncontrollable frenzy. I waited. But nothing happened.

After breakfast, Rett turned to me and asked, “You ready, Mom?”

“Yeah, bud. Mom’s sorry for over sleeping and making you miss the bus.”

Rett didn’t reply. He just hung his head and shuffled out to my car as if his shoulders had suddenly turned into stone. He must really be angry with me. My heart ached to make things right, but I couldn’t undo the damage I’d done. “Lord, please don’t let him stay angry with me.” I prayed. “And please don’t let this destroy his whole day.”

That’s when I realized we’d missed the most important part of our daily routine—morning prayer. Usually, after breakfast, we sit on the bench in my foyer and pray while we wait for the bus. Autistic children have great memories, but find it difficult to come up with words of their own. So I taught Rett a prayer that he says every day. That day, instead of sitting peacefully on our bench at home, Rett said his prayers in the car as traffic whizzed by and all kinds of sights, sounds, and smells assailed his already overloaded senses.

“Thank you for my school. To my bodies. Create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me. For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. No yelling, no screaming, no arguing, no hollering. Help me to do my work. Amen.” Rett prayed.

“To my bodies” is his way of asking Jesus to bless the food to the nourishment of our bodies. When he prays no yelling, no screaming, etc. he’s asking Jesus to help him not to act out in those areas he struggles with. That day I hoped God would grant his petition. So far Rett hadn’t erupted into meltdown mode, but I knew he must be really angry and disappointed with me.

When we arrived at Sandhill Elementary, I handed him over to his teacher. “You have a good day now, Rett, okay?” It was more a plea than a request. I felt like I’d held my breath the whole way over just waiting for the inevitable outburst.

“Okay,” he said, his voice void of expression.

I started to drive away, my heart heavy with guilt for marring one precious day of Rett’s already difficult life. As I eased over the first speed bump, I heard Rett yell, “Hey, Mom!” My window was down, so I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him without turning around.

“What, honey?” I tried to sound calm, but inside I cringed. Oh, no. Here it comes. Here comes the meltdown.

Rett couldn’t hear me, so he continued to yell, “Hey, Mom. Hey, Mom. HEY MOM!”

By then I had stopped. I look over to find Rett running toward the car, dragging his teacher behind him. As soon as he reached the passenger window we made eye contact. “I love you, Mom,” he said. Then he put his little hand to his lips and blew me kisses.

And that’s when the meltdown finally came. Not in Rett. He jumped and skipped off to have a wonderful day. The meltdown came in me. Rett’s simple faith in God allowed him to overcome the day’s adversity and enabled him to forgive me. Through Rett, God painted on my heart such a vivid picture of child-like faith and unconditional love. I will treasure that picture in the sweet, warm folds of my mother’s heart forever.

Tracie has been happily married to her husband, Jon, for nine years. After twenty-two years as a Registered Nurse, she is now a stay-at-home mom to her eleven-year-old autistic stepson, Rett. She also has a son and daughter of her own—Jotham, age twenty-seven and Hannah, age nineteen—who live in Kentucky. Tracie and Jon originally moved to Florida to be near her parents, Dr. Paul and Barbara Taylor. Since moving from Kentucky, they have attended Winter Haven Worship Center, and absolutely love it. Tracie enjoys drama, singing, and writing. She declares, “JESUS is the lover of my soul and the inspiration for all I do.”