Thinking about Autism: In the Wreckage

When my son was diagnosed with autism at the age of 3, I was devastated.  I had only encountered two other people with this condition/disease/disability...I didn't even know what to call it.  The time I spent in denial and feeling defensive didn't help anything.  It didn't push me into action.  It didn't help me understand my son any better.  I felt like a ship at sea, going under in a terrible storm, with every thing, everyone, on board lost.  It took other autism moms to get me to face it all head on and start my journey of autism awareness.  And it took community and the realization that I wasn't alone to accept autism for what it is-- a part of my son that affects him but doesn't define him..  After opening myself to the greater autism community, I found out that most parents are wrecked by this diagnosis.  But I also learned that sometimes life needs a little wrecking.

I drive by houses like that sometimes.  They are falling apart and just look dangerous, and yet there are cars parked out front and lights on inside, and I wonder, Who would live there?  Why would you make improvements or cosmetic changes?  Why would you invest your money in it, or force your family to live in it?  And I think its like the abandoned "plan" for my son.  This is what I thought he was going to be, to do, to become.  But its not, and so instead of inhabiting this crap shack, I needed to just BURN THE MOTHER DOWN.  Raze it.  Instead of asking, Why is this happening?  What made him this way?  Because those questions don't serve a purpose, and might just be the complete wrong questions to ask.  The mental spiral that kills hope and joy?  THROW IT OUT.  Standing on the now empty plot of land, I finally asked the right question: What now?  It was time to take the materials I'd been given, my wonderful and amazing and unique son, and find out what he was.  Maybe he would be a new house, or maybe he'll be a grocery store or post office, or some piece of abstract art that makes everyone who looks at him think something different.  Who knows?  There is no "right" answer, no final destination that he has to arrive at, no timetable that I can impose on him.

When the doctor said that word, the dreaded "A" word, and the teachers and therapists and well-meaning friends confirmed it, the plans and dreams and goals I had laid out for my son imploded.  And thank goodness.  Now he gets to be the author and architect of his future.  Instead of pushing him to be the person I want him to be, I'm watching to see where he shows interest and ability.  I'm still presenting opportunities (come on kid, let's learn French together! It'll be fun!), but I listen when he says NO.  We have left the wreckage and are living in the new creation, the life that happens when we rebuild what was once thought to be lost forever.