What it means to me

I am just blown away by the kindness of strangers. Thanks for your kind words. And to my blog buddies – your support and advice have meant more than you probably will ever know. I can never thank you enough for sharing your personal experiences and for offering me words of wisdom to keep me going. If I haven’t responded to you personally yet, I promise that I will.

The last few days have been absolutely unexpectedly a rollercoaster of emotion. And I usually have a pretty even keel. (Or so I think anyway. Lol.) I have had highs that came from the realization that I was right, even when everybody told me I was wrong. And even when my own darling husband supported me because he knew it was important to me, not because he thought there was a need for attention.

I have had terrible lows fearing for the future of my child. I will not speak of these, because I will not be party to making them self-evidence.

I have gone through periods when I was numb, and still trying to process what is happening to us, and part of me wants to take it all back, and maybe I’ve made a mistake after all and it’s becoming a big deal over nothing.

And then I got a call. I got a call from my relative who I adore and who has always been my 100% supporter. I will tell you now that he is my father. To clarify – he is technically my step-father, but I believe that fatherhood is something earned, not just given by birth. And boy has he earned it. He called me to tell me about Temple Grandin. I had never heard of her. She is apparently very renowned for her work in helping people understand autism. She may be the most famous autistic person there is.

He started telling me about her quirks related to what clothes she will and will not wear. And I thought about my DAILY battles with my boy to get dressed.
He told me about how certain noises will absolutely drive her crazy. And I thought about how sound-sensitive my son is, and how he covers his ears. And how the sound of his sister crying drives him to frenzied attempts to get her to smile or laugh. Or just stop.
He told me about she sees things in pictures and how she designs visually. And I thought about all the building and drawing he does, and his teachers who are convinced he will be an architect.
I am losing words here…because I cannot express to you what it means to know that there is someone else like him, and that he can be understood.

I understand now what I meant to him, and why he is where-ever I am. When I would work in the wee hours of the night, he would find me and come lie next to me. He hangs on to the hem of my skirt, he hangs on to my leg. I never knew what I meant to my child. But I do now. And no matter what it takes my love. I will fight for you.

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