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A Letter to Oliver  Nanna, Oliver and Grandpa To Oliver, with lots of love What do we think of when we think of you, Oliver? - We think of laughter. All our special times with you before diagnosis are filled with it. Watch one of our 'Oliver videos' or browse through the photograph albums and your smiley face and twinkling eyes are there.  Grandpa's birthday party You were six months old and Auntie Doreen made you giggle. The week you came to Shropshire for your first birthday we took you to Hoo Farm.
Grandpa gave you a long piece of grass. It was the first time we had heard you laugh out loud and long. It was so infectious; everyone who passed by was affected. Your mum was embarrassed; your dad couldn't hold the video camera straight for laughing. Even viewing it now on video, has the same effect on us.  A Summer's day The day you sat on a rug in the garden making daisy chains, you were fascinated. I (Nanna) tickled you under the chin. Later you watered the flowers with your mum. This was another new experience which sent you into fits of laughter. The watering can was filled so many times that afternoon, just to hear you laugh again.
That same day you took your first real steps. You tottered across our kitchen floor from your mum to your dad, he was more nervous than you. Then we sat you in a cardboard box and pulled you across the floor and there was that laugh again.
On your second birthday, we played 'peek-a-boo' with you. You hid behind your mum and were soon laughing again. You played in our garden with the windmills and the 'appulls' (apples) as you once called them. Grandpa pretended to shake the tree, you thought it worth a giggle!
At Christmas 1994, we bought you a police car and a hat. You didn't like the hat on yourself, so you put it on Grandpa, and he soon found your laugh again.  Ollie at 4, hiding under the cushions Many of our happiest recollections of you are at our home in Shropshire, but that's probably because as we live so far away from you, those occasions are extra special to us. Of course there were times when we heard you cry but they don't seem so significant. We noticed that although you were extremely bright in some aspects, in others you were slow to develop. Then you were diagnosed as autistic. We knew what that meant and of the repercussions. We can't pretend we haven't cried, we have. We can't pretend we haven't asked 'why us?' - we have. It seems so hard to come to terms with the fact that our beautiful, 'apple of our eye' might just have a tiny worm lurking beneath the surface. As Grandparents it was a double load for us to bear, not only the sorrow for you, but also how to take away the pain from our own daughter who gave birth to you, our treasured Grandson. So, how has this affected the way we feel about you? Well, really not at all. We try not to look too far ahead; those problems will come soon enough. We were so proud of you when we came to school to see you in your first Christmas Concert. We saw that same twinkle in your eye when we brought some late Christmas and Easter parcels from the family. "Presents" you said - you knew they contained things for you. What progress you have made in the few short weeks since Christmas. But your laughter is still there, like when you were playing with the pretend food and we asked you "Who's putting tomato sauce on the carpet?" Who says you have no imagination!?
The simple things give us so much joy. Just walking around the bird garden or like last week, feeding the ducks, you and Grandpa can be in fits of laughter within minutes. We just want to hug you to bits.
When you run to Grandpa with arms outstretched, or wrap those same small arms around Nanna's neck, you're just as perfect as any Grandson could be. May, 1998
To Oliver's other grandparents - (paternal) |
