There is a difference between receptive and expressive language. My son receives language somewhat easily. I know this. If you read James Marshall's "Portly McSwine," then you put it aside for a full year, my son will forget nothing. There is one eighth of one quick scene that deals with a flu shot--my son will point to the book, today, and inform you, "That's the one with the flu shot."
Also, Josh retains names; I do not. He greets a nurse by her nickname; I hadn't thought that I'd had prior exposure to this nurse, but, clearly, I was wrong.
I love codes; I love the gap between speech and thought. This is because I was a student of Amy Bloom's; subtext was all she talked about. Right now, you can see "Sense and Sensibility" in a multiplex--and Elinor Dashwood appears to be chatting about the weather, but really she is plotting to ensure her own survival. And one of the reasons that Julianne Moore has an Oscar is that she lets us see *several* levels of performance in "Still Alice." We see her playing the part of a gracious mom (in the company of her frankly irritating children). At the end of Act One, we learn that Moore's character has believed--for many weeks--that she has a brain tumor. So, if you go back and revisit the early scenes, you notice a little hum under the dialogue. The hum is Moore's unarticulated mantra: "Right now, I will *not* think about my possible brain tumor."
My son doesn't "produce" a great deal of language, but he speaks through his eyes. You have to watch the eyes. The mouth says something baffling, e.g., "We do not have TIME to sing right now." It's the eyes that send the actual message: "I'm anxious, and I need to be reassured."
I often encourage Josh to talk about his Elmo doll; for whatever reason, the "persona" of Elmo allows Josh to loosen his own tongue. Josh discloses autobiographical details through Elmo. For example: Elmo does not like loud noises. Elmo is so excited to get married (to Josh) on Thanksgiving.
Here is how Amy Bloom ends her memoir:
You are the port in the storm. And you are the storm. And you are the sea. You are the rocks and the beach and the waves. You are the sunrise and the sunset and all of the light in between. I think I have more to say but I can’t. We are holding hands, pressed against each other, holding each other up. I whisper to him, Every day of my life, and he whispers to me, Every day of my life.
It's obviously a romantic passage--but, also, it makes me think of Josh. The port in the storm--and the storm itself. The rocks and the sand and the sea. How lucky I am.

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