Billy’s White Paper

A white paper (or “whitepaper”) is an authoritative report or

guide that often addresses issues and how to solve them. Wikipedia

If you can’t speak and your communication device does not contain the word, picture, or symbol for a white bathroom rug you need, what would you do? The answer doesn’t come quickly because it requires creative problem solving. It also demands faith that the person you work with believes you have a message. In other words, the success of the social engagement is predicated on the often overlooked, devalued, and even maligned concept that an individual on the autism spectrum is a communicator.

So when Billy realizes that his device does not contain the word “rug”, what does he do? In the heat of the moment, Billy’s frustration mounts. This is a normal human response. What is extraordinary is Billy’s uncanny persistence. Billy believes he is a communicator and so even the byzantine mazes he must sometimes navigate to make his point are worth the dead ends.

So a member of Billy’s team follows his incomprehensible lead. With his device, Billy asks for the key to unlock the door that leads to a basement office. Billy explains to Natalie that he wants “paper”. They descend the steps and Billy walks to a stack of white typing paper and holds up the white paper to his friend, Natalie. Most adults would raise their hands up in the air in complete exasperation. If that too eerily familiar scenario happened, Billy would be silenced. The Billy I know would cease to exist.

Like good detectives, however, Natalie and Billy revisit the scene of the communication altercation. The bathroom is the nexus. Billy stands in front of the vanity clutching the white paper. Natalie scans the room and realizes that the bathroom has only one white organic cotton rug where there should be two floor covers. She looks at Billy. Billy looks at her. Placing the square white paper in front of the vanity, she says “Billy do you mean rug?” Billy nods and clicks his tongue between his lips. The white paper is removed and the white rug is put in its rightful home. Relief- yes Jubilation –yes Communication – you bet!

In the end, it was a white piece of paper that became an ad lib symbol for a missing white bathroom rug. Billy knew that ultimately if he persisted and his communication partner waited, listened and encouraged him, Billy would break through the glass wall and his voice would be heard.

Companion–“a peaceful spirit with a big heart”

Bernie died today – Thursday July 22, 2010

He was Billy and Ben’s dog for fourteen years.

But Bernie was also a friend, a companion, a social compatriot in our tightly knit family.



We received Bernie from the NEADS (New England Assistance Dog Services) program in Princeton, MA. This worthy non-profit organization’s mission is to train dogs found in shelters to guide, support, protect and comfort individuals with an array of developmental and physical challenges.

Bernie was what NEADS referred to as a “social dog” whose tail always wagged. Bernie was a mix with no particular pedigree, he nevertheless stood out with distinction. Passersby’s would pause and marvel at his muscular 95 pound regal bearing with a luminous auburn coat. As a young boy, Ben proudly took Bernie on walks and as a young man they would take runs through the neighborhood and wooded trails. After their runs together, Bernie would bound up the backyard and carry back to Ben, no not sticks, but major tree branches as a way to entice Ben to play , tussle, and just hang out together. In those daily hours when Ben and Billy’s needs diverged, Ben sought out Bernie and together they curled up for hours on the floor, nustling and content. Ben and Bernie’s energy was boundless and so was their love.



The first time I brought Bernie home, a little Billy spied us thorough the glass kitchen door, turned around, ran to his bedroom and jumped in his bed and pulled the sheets over his head. This was an ominous beginning but Bernie never shied away from Billy’s less than enthusiastic welcome. Respectfully, Bernie stayed by Billy’s side no matter what happened. Bernie waited, stayed close and never distanced himself from our family’s unfolding story. Bernie’s unabated attention was a primal wellspring of support. Billy’s gleeful Irish jigs, jumps and squeals of delight were greeted by Bernie with equal vigor and carefree abandon and when a 17 year old Billy became sick, Bernie never retreated. Billy’s anguished screams and body contortions as he tried so hard to control his pain-ridden body were witnessed by a quiet and solemn Bernie.



Through New England snows, ice, hail, drenching rain, slick mud and thick heat, Bernie always accompanied Billy to the barn every afternoon and every night. Whether Billy listened to music, jumped on the trampoline, sat on the rocking chair or laid down on the trampoline folded in blankets, Bernie sat in front of the barn and waited. After each barn session without fail, Bernie escorted Billy back to the house.

Billy was never alone.

My visualization of Billy and Bernie running up the hilly yard to the barn is and will remain a deep fountain of gratitude, reassurance, and renewal.

Billy is not alone.



photos: ©2010 Millicent Harvey Photography