Monday, April 9, 2012


A woman sits in front of her computer, trembling.
She can neither focus on what she wants to Google, nor can she stop vainly searching.
She tries every combination her rattled mind can make using the word autism, until it's too late to sleep and too early to rise, but never finds her way in any clear directions. So much for a degree in tech.
I want to reach her and tell her that the reason none of those digital pages have any answers is that the answers are just down the hall, where her son is in his bed. He is the answer, himself, to the question: Who is my child? Where is my child? He has been her question and her answer, and she should rest easy knowing that nothing anyone else ever says or does will change that he is her beautiful boy.
I cannot go back and help myself, when I was that woman trembling in the face of a word -- autism -- and the fear that the word was enough to destroy a family's hopes and dreams.
But I sit now in front of my computer, determined to find some path to other mothers, other fathers, who sit in front of their computers in despair; determined to tell them, I know, I know, I know. Hope, hope, hope. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Your child is your child. Autism is just a word. Be where you are, with your child.

1 comment:

Christine said...

This is really, really lovely. I think many of us feel this way. We've earned that bit of wise-ness. I wish there was some way to get to the wise without having to go through the other stuff!