What We Need

        I hate birthday parties. They generally are everything C struggles with combined into one event. Eating, waiting (for someone else to open presents), unstructured play, social situations, noise, groups of boys, and mean kids. Navigating the birthday party waters is fraught with potential disasters, most of which occurred today.

     The problem is, C loves everyone. No matter the wrong done to him, everyone is a friend. I love that about him. What I don’t like about it is the future I see for him - being picked on relentlessly. I watched today as a group of boys played a game of tag, and no one was ever “it” except for C. For anyone watching, it looked like he was fully participating in the group; what was really going on was a very subtle form of bullying. He had a blast for awhile, and then he wandered off to play alone.

      The disconnect for me is that I keep thinking because he is so kind-hearted and friendly, kids will want to be his friend despite his idiosyncracies. What I realized is he’s never going to fit into their world. You’d think I was new to his diagnosis, because every time I realize this fact, it hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s not about some desire of mine for him to be popular - I just want him to have friends, so I try to teach him the necessary skills. It’s what he wants. I’m following his lead, and I never want to give up for him or on him. 

     I had an epiphany today, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant one. I realized my child has autism. I know this in my head, but for my heart it’s always a surprise when it remembers. For all that carries with it, whatever interesting and wonderful things come out of it, it breaks my heart that what he wants the most is probably the one thing that will never come easily to him.

     I’ll never accept this. I’ll always accept my child for who and what he is, but as long as there is hope, I will never, ever quit for him. We are continually looking for new ways to help C break through the barriers in his brain and body, and I doubt I’ll ever give up the search. With each new step, be it therapeutic or medical in nature, we find something or someone that helps, and it often comes in forms we don’t expect.

          There are some moments when I feel like I’m beating my head against a wall, but they always pass. When I’m at my lowest, C does something that amazes me in its power to bring back the faith. So no, I’ll never accept this for him. It makes him who he is and I completely accept him for who he is but I will continue in my quest to find ways to make his journey through this world happier, healthier, and safer. So I suppose I’ve failed the acceptance portion of the stages of grief, but that’s okay by me.