Nineteen years ago today, I became mother to a beautiful baby boy. It had been a horrible pregnancy, so this was it. He was my second and final child, but my life was complete. I had a daughter and a son. Nothing more was necessary.
I couldn't possibly know then just how much he would change my life. So often, we hear that autism is a "devastating" diagnosis, and we hear a lot about "curing" it. To that, I must ask: "Cure what?" Sure, I would love for him to be able to go through life without struggling to tell me what's going on inside his head, but I'm grateful for what he has. He can speak. He can communicate. I often feel the need to prod him for more detailed information, especially when it's important that I know, but that's a fairly minor thing. He has a sweetness about him that I doubt I'd find in a "typical" child his age. He's honest to a fault, and...it can lead to awkward moments, but he is also polite, kind, caring, and--yes--loving and empathetic. He knows when we're upset, and the thing that saddens me is that he so often takes the blame, even when he's been repeatedly told that what we feel has nothing to do with anything he's done, or hasn't done. He strives to please. I have never deliberately impressed upon him the need to be "perfect," but he seems to be extremely disappointed when he makes mistakes or does something he thinks will make us less than happy. That's what I find to be the most difficult thing about being his mother. It's not the "stimming." It's not the spontaneous "babbling" or talking on (and on...) about his imaginary friends, celebrity's cars, or whatever his fixation of the day happens to be. He is autistic, and he will tell you that. He wears his autism like a badge. It's "AWE-tism." He's proud of it, and he should be.
There are many amazing things about my son. He has a great sense of humor, and even when we burst out laughing at a time when he doesn't expect it, he doesn't show embarrassment or seem annoyed. He likes the idea that he can amuse us, even when he doesn't try to.
He also has a keen ear for music, likes to sing, and can find his way to anywhere, from anywhere. He gets the singing interest from me, but certainly not his direction sense! If I am ever confused about which way to go (which occurs daily!), he can direct me, even from somewhere he hasn't been in years.
We also hear that autistic people aren't affectionate. Pardon me, but...BULL!! How many adult men still kiss their mother every night before going to bed? Mine does, and he initiates it. When I'm sad, he knows, and he is distressed by it. He'll hug me and assure me that everything will be okay. When we came home from an appointment years ago that didn't give me any answers, I broke down after walking into the house. I said I was sad because I didn't know how to help him, and he said, very matter-of-factly, "It's just me. I'm just Andrew."
Yes, my sweet son. You are Andrew, and you are a miracle in my life. Thanks for being my greatest teacher and inspiration. I love you with all of my being. Happy Birthday.
Love always,
Mom
