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Friday, January 2, 2009

Jett Travolta, RIP



I love this picture.

The story is here.

4 comments:

  1. I am so sorry to hear this. My heart goes out to them all.

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  2. I know.

    I can't imagine.

    One of my more intense moments in life was the day I went to an autism conference in Long Beach & walked into the middle of a talk being given by Margaret Bauman, who had done a famous study of autistic brains.

    She'd put a slide up on the overhead projector, and one of the columns listed cause of death for the autistic people whose brains she had autopsied.

    For several of these people the cause was simply: "found dead in bed." These were all young people; some were children, I think.

    I was very pregnant with the twins at the time, and I basically just closed my mind to the possibility.

    But every once in a while, it comes back. Jimmy or Andrew will sleep late, or not be stirring....and I'll remember.

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  3. What I like about the photo, first, is the funkiness of Jett: he's on his toes, he's walking barefoot in the sun; he's barefoot, AND HE'S WEARING A HOODY WITH THE HOOD UP.

    Of course, realistically speaking, what this tells you is that Jett has a pretty strange nervous system, and anyone looking at this image has to be thinking: if only.

    But there is something so dear about his get-up, too. Which you can be sure his mother did not pick out for him!

    The other thing I like is his mom's body language, and the expression on her face.

    As intense as autistic children are - I would imagine Jett was a handful - she looks sort of "physically relaxed." In every photo I've seen of Jett with his folks, they are touching him & often he's touching them, and I've had the same relationship with my autistic kids long past the age at which that relationship ends with a typical child.

    The other day Andrew, who is 14, was rubbing his head up against mine & climbing onto my lap, and C. said, "Andrew's much more lovey-dovey with you than he is with Dad."

    I hadn't noticed!

    There's a kind of naturalness to being the parent of an autistic child that's hard to express or even to recognize.

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