To My Son with Autism: I’m Sorry Kid

Dear Son,

I’m writing you this letter, a letter that I know you will most likely never read, mainly because I will probably hide it from you.

I have so much that I want to tell you, but with you being only 7 years-old, I feel like this may be too much for you, so instead, I will share it with other parents, who, hopefully, will understand.

There are things that, if I had the power, I would change to make your life better. But my job isn’t to change the past; it’s to make your present and future the best that I can.

I can only imagine the struggles that you endure in silence every day. I will never know the extent of confusion or how your brain processes this world’s stimuli. I will never understand why you are constantly stimming for days on end and then nothing for weeks. It kills me to know that you’re going through something that I can’t see or understand.

I try so hard to try to put myself in your shoes, but there is no way for me to truly know what you’re feeling until the day arrives when you are able to communicate with me. I pray this day is waiting for us, somewhere, up ahead a little ways, or just beyond a bend that we can’t see past, yet. It’s waiting for us, somewhere along this journey that we’re walking together, side by side.

I have watched as other children taunted and made fun of you. It infuriates me. I have tried to educate them because they will be the same children who will grow up alongside you. I want to try to help them understand and support you. I hope and pray that you don’t hear their criticisms.

You are the happiest child in the world, and I’ll be damned if the opinions of others, especially children who are supposed to be your friends, taint your precious outlook on life.

Just last week, I had to explain to another boy why you “talk funny,” when I saw him mocking you. Of course, you didn’t notice. But I did. And it broke my heart. After I talked to him about it, I had to hold in my tears and frustration until we were finally in the car.

I try so hard not to cry in front of you about these things, but there are and will be times where mama’s protective shield can’t protect you from life’s sharp and unexpected jabs.

It’s been just you and I since you were one-year-old. I’m so sorry that your dad isn’t around. I’m sorry that you weren’t lucky enough to have one of those great dads. I’m sorry that it took me months to explain to you that you didn’t have a dad when you started to notice that other kids did. But you know what?

We are doing just fine on our own; we have each other, and you happen to have the best Nana in the whole wide world.

I’m sorry that you and I fight sometimes about your eating habits. Kid, I know you would love to live off of chips and M&M’s, but that’s not cool with me. It’s not enough for you. I make you drink your meal replacements drinks because I love you, and I need you to stay healthy. So let’s try not to fight about it anymore, and we’ll keep working on it. I think, one day, you will realize that I’m the “boss.”

I absolutely love you, but sometimes I hate autism.

I hate the struggles that you have to silently endure. I hate the inherent and constant worry. I hate the fact that I want the best life for you, but that I have to fight for services to help you get it. I mostly hate the uninformed population of society that judges you for a single public meltdown. Screw you, judgemental people. I’m not in the mood, and I haven’t got time for you.

My son, you are my strong, resilient boy, and you literally amaze me daily. You are EXTREMELY stubborn (which I’ll admit you get from me), and we certainly have our moments of struggle.

But Jaxon, you have my whole heart, and nothing will ever change the way I look at you in awe.

I love you,

Mama

By Jamie Henderson

Jamie is a single mother to a sweet 7 year old boy, Jaxon.  Jaxon was diagnosed with Autism right before he turned three.  Jamie recently started a blog, Autism Life With Jaxon, and Facebook page to help with her anxiety.  She posts about their struggles, victories, and silly moments in hopes that it will spread and more people will become aware and accepting of our special kiddos.

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