A Mile, A Marathon and A Tour Guide

Every once in a while, somewhere out in public, Noah will scream or screech with delight in a place he loves. He can’t help it! He has autism and he’s non verbal. It’s how he tells me he’s happy.

However, sometimes it’s at a place like the grocery store or Lowe’s where it echoes across the whole store. That’s when I get a few different kinds of looks.

Sometimes I get the look of pity which is unnecessary but at least has good intentions or I’ll get the ‘I get it’ look from another mom which I appreciate, but sometimes I get the judgy look.

The look that  means “control your child” or “Really? You’re just gonna let him scream?! He needs a good butt whoopin!”

What I’d like to say is…“Here’s my shoes. Take a walk in them and we can talk when you get back.”

But I don’t.

For obvious reasons.

Instead, I try not to let it bother me because they don’t understand. I think if they did, they might not judge me so harshly. I believe that. Because if they knew what it takes to walk a mile in my shoes; well let’s just say, they better have some really comfortable shoes.

Autism is hard and that first mile is a long, steep hike but it is followed by a marathon.

A daily marathon that sends you on a journey through a blistering desert of tantrums and meltdowns and through the murky swamps of stemming and self doubt. You have to scale up mountains of therapies, doctors appointments and evaluations and walk through long valleys of uncertainty and anxiety.

But, as hard as it sounds, I would have to ask them to walk a little more than a mile. Because a mile isn’t long enough. You would only get a partial view of what it’s really like. You have to walk the whole marathon.

Every desert. Every mountain. Every valley. And every murky filled swamp along the way.

But don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it sounds because what I haven’t told you is that you would have an extraordinary little tour guide with you named Noah. He makes your marathon seem more like a hike.

He somehow always seems to know where to go if you trust him and he has a very energetic way of pointing out all these delightful little details that you might have missed along the way because you were just attempting to keep up.

They are things that make your walk a little easier. Make your step a little lighter.

He makes you notice the stunning view from the mountain top you just struggled to get up.

The way the sunlight bounces off every grain of sand in that hot, lonely desert and makes it look like a field of diamonds.

The colorful butterflies that surround the hundreds of small yellow flowers in the seemingly endless valley you were just trying so desperately to get across.

And the tall, strong cypress trees that give you something to hold onto in the murky swamps that always seem to want to pull you under.

It’s important that they walk more than that single mile because they would also need to experience the end of every marathon day, when you get to the finish line.

With that fantastic little blond haired, blue eyed tour guide right by your side.

Because that’s where you get the gold.

That’s when you get the payoff.

The “runner’s high” if you will.

That finish line is where you might hear a word for the first time.

Just one single word.

“Hi”

Or he might simply climb in your lap, look you in the eyes, lay his head on your chest and sigh a quiet sigh of contentment.

Whatever small gesture or huge breakthrough that happens at the end of every marathon makes you realize that every blister, every bruise, every mile was worth it. And you will realize that every breakthrough, no matter how big or small is the reason you do it.

And you know that no matter how tired you are or how hard that marathon day was, you’ll get up the next morning and do it all over again.

For him. Because, after all, Noah can’t do it alone. And it’s his marathon. Every single day of his life.

And he really is the most adorable little tour guide you could ask for.

Written by, Christy Savely

You can follow Christy’s story at G-May and Noah.

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