We were Oblivious to the Obvious

I don’t really remember how old Holly was when we realised she was “different” and by different I mean not the same as my best friends son.

We didn’t really have any other children around us of the same age and no other comparisons.

Comparisons of children will always be made whether warranted or not, welcome or not!

Our children were born 3 weeks apart and our friendship blossomed as we shared our firsts together.  Our first child, our first close friends to experience children together.

Our children’s first tooth, first steps, first foods and then it stopped. Alex’s first words, first one to enjoy toys, to interact, take an interest in the world around him.

This is when we first started to notice our beautiful girl seemed different, quiet, less interested in interaction, less of everything really.

Then we go back to the comparisons!

She’ll catch up, children develop at different stages, she’s just taking her time. You listen and think yeah maybe their right. She’s only 18 months, then she’s only 2, only 3 and on and on…. except she’s now 6 and never really caught up.

The difference with my beautiful daughter is that. She is absolutely beautiful.

Yes, I’m biased. I’m her Mum.

She’s my everything. BUT she is beautiful and as we get told all too often it’s difficult to understand how there can be anything so different when you see such a beautiful child before you. Beauty means zero. Absolutely nothing.

I tell myself the same words over and over again. If only she could talk. Holly is 100% completely non verbal. Not one single word.

Lots of humming and screeching but no words.

This was the start of noticing our girl was “different”. Then bit by bit we noticed big differences.

Our “ah-ha” moment was Alex’s 2nd birthday. Of course we would go, he was Holly’s best friend, my best friends son. Even though the thought of it made me nervous. It was at a local play centre with 10 other children of similar age, late afternoon.

Holly always had a nap late afternoon, so of course we were late, we couldn’t possibly change the routine as that could upset her.

We watched as all the other children ran around the soft play together and watched Holly go to corners and run laps around the centre with an abundance of energy that never gave up! Avoiding anything that would lead to any interaction.

It was then time to eat, we sat Holly down with the other children who were tucking into their party food. Holly couldn’t eat that food. She only likes certain food.

Then time for party games. This was when it finally hit, fast as a speeding train. You know the feeling when you could actually throw up your insides churning.

We watched as the other kids played games, passed the parcel to each other, laughed, giggled and shared. Holly danced, hummed and flapped her arms, stamping her feet hard on the ground as she still does for the sensory feedback.

We watched as we looked at our beautiful girl and realised there was something wrong. So very wrong.

Something we had seen and denied for so long, right in front of our eyes.

Autism.

I could see everyone in the room looking at Holly, watching her and I could see the look, the look of pity, the knowing look.

We made our excuses and left the party pretty quickly.

I felt sick. Physically sick. What would we do? Could she change? Could she be better? Could she get worse? And I felt embarrassed. I’m ashamed to admit that but I felt embarrassed. That my child was the one that was so different and we were so oblivious to the obvious.

I sobbed most of the car journey home. My husband was completely silent. We knew. We both knew.

This was the start of our different life. Different than planned or imagined.

What would become of our beautiful girl? What was her future?

The snowball started to roll. It hasn’t stopped rolling since.

One thing we hope never changes though is our girls ability to laugh and smile. The smile that could light up the world.

We no longer see our friends. Life has a funny way of disconnecting people around you when there’s a special needs child involved.

Written by, Louise Brooks

I’m Louise Brooks from the UK, my 6 year old daughter Holly is Non-Verbal, Autism, ADHD. Life is hard, so very hard but beautiful at the same time. Autism has opened up our eyes to experiences we cherish and some we wish we didn’t know!

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