Would I Skip the Hard Chapters?

This morning Jamie, Sawyer and I went to church to celebrate Easter. Typically, it’s just Sawyer and I because someone has to stay home with Cooper.  But since it’s a special day, I wanted Jamie to join us.

As usual I felt the sting of leaving Cooper behind with his aunt as we left for church. Today, he even halfheartedly grabbed his shoes to come with us. What I wouldn’t give to do something as a family of four. Just once.

I’m pretty sure that most people think we only have one son. As Jamie, Sawyer and I were sitting in the pew, I had the aching thought, how do I keep Cooper relevant when he is unable to leave the house? I want people to know I have two sons.

But, this post isn’t about that. Or even the struggles of trying to bring a severely autistic child anywhere.

This post is about the hard chapters of our life. We all have them. No one is spared.

As the Pastor spoke about the sadness of Good Friday versus the joys of Easter Sunday he asked, ‘Would you skip the hard chapters of your life to get to the easier ones?’

What a question.

My mind immediately wandered to Cooper. It always does.That kid and I have been through it all.

I thought about our hard years. The years without sleep. And by years I mean five. The years of worry. Worrying that he was not developing like his peers. Worrying that he wasn’t meeting milestones. Worry about the lack of words. The lack of attention. The lack of interactions.

And then the unique agony over the word autism. For years I couldn’t say that word out loud. I didn’t want to even say it in the same sentence as my son’s name.

Was he or wasn’t he? If he was, what does the future hold? Will he be okay? Will we be okay?

And if he wasn’t, then what was wrong?

I remember those early years well. They are burned into my brain. Calling Early Intervention. Visiting doctors. Spending countless hours in therapists offices.

I remember how hard it was. How many tears I cried while driving. Tear I hid from Cooper. Not that he’d know or care anyways.

Then the medical issues. I’d argue daily with insurance companies and leave messages for nurses. I started saying words like, ‘quality of life.’

Then finally, the moments when forever set in. And looking at the future in a whole different light. My child wasn’t just autistic. He was severely autistic. He had no words. He wasn’t just going to be the quirky kid. He didn’t have a special talent. This was really serious.

What if we are never able to leave the house? What if I never have a conversation with my son? What if, what if, what if? The what if’s consumed me sometimes. God, were there hard moments over the years.

As I sat next to my five year old and my husband, the memories of the past seven years flooded my brain. And my heart.

And the question was right there. If I could, would I skip all of those hard chapters to get to today?

Because today, we are okay. We have settled into autism. There are no knew surprises lurking daily. We have Cooper in the best place for him. His therapy is working. We have the medical issues figured out. He sleeps. He’s potty trained. He’s happy. He’s learning to communicate.

We are also starting to figure out how we feel about the future. That’s a biggie.

So would I?

The answer is no. With every fiber of my being I can tell you the answer is no. I would not skip one second with my son. I wouldn’t skip the struggles. I wouldn’t skip the pain. Because that would mean I was missing time with him.

Cooper is my world.

Yes, we’ve had some hard times. We’ve had even more sad times. And we’ve also had joy, humor, and happiness.

Right now he is rolling around on my floor humming (LOUDLY) and watching trains. He’s covered in Cheeto dust. His mouth is dyed red from Jelly Beans. My bathtub is filled with his treasures. I’m still frustrated he broke another one of his Kindles. I missed him at church this morning.

And yet another holiday where he didn’t care. Seven years of those. He paid no attention to his Easter Basket or the Easter Egg Hunt again this year. That stung. It always does.

But, this is our story. Our hard, beautiful, happy, sad, sometimes frustrating story.

And I wouldn’t give up one sad memory because it means I wouldn’t have the amazing ones.

I want all of the chapters to my Cooper book. Then, now and forever.

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