You Got A Friend In Me

Exactly one year after we received our oldest son’s diagnosis of autism, the four of us are on our way to celebrate a cousin’s birthday. It’s a children’s birthday party, and I’m terrified. Weeks before I had tried to insist to the mother that the dates that were picked wouldn’t work for us, but I was just trying to shield my child. Now here we are, parked in front of their house.

I’m always anxious when we stray from our routine, or should I say from Zachary’s routine. As a family we are still learning, and trying to figure out what works for everyone. Zachary is forever changing, a puzzle himself that I sometimes think I have just about solved, but then another clue appears and leads us in another direction.

My husband and I have two boys. Zachary is three years old. Tall, blue eyes, and freckles over his noise. He also has severe, non verbal, autism. He hand flaps when he is happy and hand flaps when he is upset. Honestly, it’s one thing I don’t mind that he does, because the stimming at least tells me how he is feeling.

Landon is our nuerotypical two year old child, and some days I find myself thinking that Landon is harder than autism itself. To us, we are just another “normal” family.

It’s a typical summer evening, the sun is still shinning, and we walk into the backyard. Kids are running around, and we see a splash table. A sigh a relief comes over me. My sensory seeking son loves water tables. As time goes on Zachary is wondering the backyard, but alone.  He loves to be with everyone but always at a distance. As if he is looking into a snow globe; unable to enter that world but studying it from afar. Those moments break my heart. I wonder all the time if he knows he is different.

The other children are playing together on the swing set, or playing tag, and other birthday activities.  Meanwhile, my husband and I take turns redirecting Zachary from picking up sticks and running.

It’s getting later in the evening and I can see the light dimming in Zachary. He knows that it’s usually bath time, and then we eat dinner. However, that’s not what’s going on tonight. I know that there is this small gray area where we can calm Zachary down before he is in a full blown meltdown.

Tonight, we have missed our key ques. It is hard enough at children’s birthday party with two small toddlers. My husband and I never really get to be social with other parents, let alone find a moment to eat or drink, as we are running around chasing our kids. These moments, I’m always wondering if I have failed as a mother. How could I have not prevented this meltdown? Why would I set up our family for failure? I know I’m not failing, but it sure does feel like it sometimes.

Now it’s time for the piñata.  As a child, I remember waiting in suspense for it to break and racing to get all the candy. I see the same anticipation in Landon, but not Zachary. Zachary has reached his breaking point. It is getting late, it’s still hot outside, we are not doing anything that is part of our daily routine, and there are a lot of things going on sensory wise. We have reached our meltdown point.  I’m still grasping that we can quickly turn around from this moment. I sit him on the deck and put his favorite show on, Toy Story, on my phone. It’s not working. I know in my heart nothing will work except to go home.

I certainly did not want to leave the party, because Landon was having so much fun. We hadn’t even got to cake yet. Instead of going home, we removed Zachary from the situation. I took him to our car. He calmed down after awhile. I figured maybe I could gradually get Zachary back into the party. Then we went to the front of the house where he started to cry again and then so did I.

We sat on the front porch crying together.  The sun was just about to set for the night.

I remember thinking; will it always be like this? Will it always be this hard? How many birthday parties will I miss? How many moments will I miss of my other son enjoying these parties and I will be with Zachary in the car?

Finally, by the time I had counted to ten Zachary had calmed down, and so did I. We then walked back into the party. Zachary was whining, but willing to go. He sat down and watched his favorite show on my phone.  I had missed Landon’s first time trying to hit a piñata, but I knew this moment was bigger than that.

We finally made it to the cake and Zachary took part in this. He then went back to my phone to sit alone on the deck. I always like to think there is a silver lining. The birthday boy, who is a year older than Zachary, could have done anything at his party.  He had lots of other children there to play with, toys and, games, but he chose to sit next to Zachary. He put his arm around him and watched Toy Story on my phone. He didn’t say anything to Zachary. He just sat there smiling next to my son.

Written by, Melissa Owsiany

Melissa is a nurse, wife and mom to two wonderful boys Zachary, who has autism, and Landon.

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook and subscribe to our newsletter.

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