(A re-post from 2011 when I was sharing a talking a lot more about my son's autism. Now at at 17, I've learned and grown and so has he. The autism will always be there. But how we feel about it and handle it, will continue to evolve.)
It is 9:05 am on Saturday morning, and “it” has started. Actually “it” started about 45 or so minutes ago. Or maybe “it” started as soon as Little Boy began to wake up around 6:30. But probably for Little Boy, “it” never ends. Not through the night, through sleep, through joy, through hurt, through everything.
The “it” is the autism. The indescribable part of the disorder that cannot explain the fussiness, the loss for words. The I-don’t-know-what’s-wrong-myself-and-I-can’t-tell-you part of autism. It’s bigger than a lapse in audio or visual processing that teachers and therapists so glibly tell me that my son has. It’s bigger than the communication delay that I can clearly see for myself. Bigger than the stimming. Bigger than the tantrums.
The “it” runs our lives.
“It” predicts what might happen. “It” keeps us from activities that other families easily enjoy because the fear of “it” makes it hard for Mommy to say “sure……let’s all spend the day at the pumpkin patch.....”
The “it” wakes us up several times a night. The “it” makes Little Boy cry and pout and sometimes scream and hit. The “it” makes the sweat run down Mommy’s back even when every window in the house is open.
The “it” makes Mommy snap at the boyfriend and cry when she’s in the bathroom. The “it” makes Little Boy insist that you sit here and not HERE. The “it” makes Little Boy say and do things that even Little Boy cannot understand.
The autism makes Little Boy different and creative and special and complicated. The autism makes me study and read and strive to do all I can for my son.
But the “it”.....
The “it” just makes me want to lie down and give up. The “it” makes me angry for ruining a beautiful sunny fall morning. The ‘it” gets the best of me more than I would like.
It is 9:05 am on Saturday morning, and “it” has started. Actually “it” started about 45 or so minutes ago. Or maybe “it” started as soon as Little Boy began to wake up around 6:30. But probably for Little Boy, “it” never ends. Not through the night, through sleep, through joy, through hurt, through everything.
The “it” is the autism. The indescribable part of the disorder that cannot explain the fussiness, the loss for words. The I-don’t-know-what’s-wrong-myself-and-I-can’t-tell-you part of autism. It’s bigger than a lapse in audio or visual processing that teachers and therapists so glibly tell me that my son has. It’s bigger than the communication delay that I can clearly see for myself. Bigger than the stimming. Bigger than the tantrums.
The “it” runs our lives.
“It” predicts what might happen. “It” keeps us from activities that other families easily enjoy because the fear of “it” makes it hard for Mommy to say “sure……let’s all spend the day at the pumpkin patch.....”
The “it” wakes us up several times a night. The “it” makes Little Boy cry and pout and sometimes scream and hit. The “it” makes the sweat run down Mommy’s back even when every window in the house is open.
The “it” makes Mommy snap at the boyfriend and cry when she’s in the bathroom. The “it” makes Little Boy insist that you sit here and not HERE. The “it” makes Little Boy say and do things that even Little Boy cannot understand.
The autism makes Little Boy different and creative and special and complicated. The autism makes me study and read and strive to do all I can for my son.
But the “it”.....
The “it” just makes me want to lie down and give up. The “it” makes me angry for ruining a beautiful sunny fall morning. The ‘it” gets the best of me more than I would like.