The quiet old house begins to tremble from some distant commotion. Thumpings, bangings and a deep, vibrating moan are coming from another room and can mean only one thing. Charlotte Moore begins to clear away all breakable items in the kitchen with practised efficiency, like a stage hand changing a set. She swiftly replaces our ceramic lunch plates and glasses with a single place setting: a melamine plate of biscuits and a plastic beaker of orange juice. “Sam’s back,” she announces.
Her 20-year-old autistic son seems not best pleased to find a stranger invading his territory. He pulls his T-shirt over his nose, rocks in his chair and produces something between a loud humming of disapproval and a warning growl. He is a fine-looking young man with dark, chiselled features but his arms are covered in little wounds and his hands are red and gnawed.
via >Autism: living with autistic adult children – Telegraph.
