Grieving the Child I Thought I Lost

The day after Mason’s confirmed diagnosis I couldn’t shake my unexplainable feeling of loss. But I didn’t lose my child.

In fact, he was sitting 3 feet away, happily lining up his cars on the tv stand, babbling in a language only he could understand.

Even though he was close enough to touch, I felt a gaping hole; like part of my life, the before Autism part, had died.

When we got home from the assessment appointment, I dug out Mason’s baby book. The record I had so proudly and carefully kept during his first two years.

I cried as I read all the milestones he met either early or on time. I sobbed into the photos of him playing with my friends babies and nearly drowned in my own puddle when I heard the recording of him calling for the deer at our favourite park.

This Mason….the child I was suppose to have, was gone.

In his place was a boy who looked like Mason; who wore his clothes, slept in his bed and used his toothbrush; but this boy was not the child I gave birth to.

This boy doesn’t look at me, hug me or smile at me.

He doesn’t listen when he’s called or when his favourite song comes on.

This boy doesn’t talk.

On a scrap of paper stuck in the back of the book, I found the list I had so foolishly cultivated after a particularly positive wellness check.

I had written down all the goals I had for Mason.

Like any parent, I wanted my son to have every opportunity I didn’t have.

The list included things like hockey school, French Immersion and a spot at Junior Achievement. The child I had now would probably never be able to do these things.

The next week was hard for me.

Realizing Autism was now our reality, I was taking the steps to set everything in motion. From funding, to therapy to parent workshops, that week was a constant reminder of how my life had completely changed.

After 5 straight days of appointments, meetings and teleconferences, I was exhausted.

I had no idea how I was going to do another day let alone years of this.

I was sitting on the couch that night and out of nowhere Mason came over to me. He climbed up in the small space beside me and fell asleep cuddled into my side.

Even in our before Autism days, this had never happened. My heart was so happy it hurt.

Sitting perfectly still so as to not disturb the sleeping child beside me, I began to cultivate a new list in my head.

Hockey school became play with your brother without hitting him.

French immersion became eat at the table with the family.

Junior Achievement became make a friend.

It hurt to be writing such simple goals when I had such big plans for him.

For weeks after his diagnosis, when he would look me in the eye, I would search for a trace of the old Mason.

At first it made me sad because the old Mason was here for such a short time I was forgetting things about him.

It was getting harder to remember teaching him to use a spoon or having him fall asleep without it turning into World War III.

But worst of all, I was forgetting the sound of his voice. I wish I had taken more videos of the precious few words he had, just in case they don’t come back.

As time goes on, I have accepted there is no “old Mason” or “new Mason”. There is just simply Mason and I love him more than I ever thought I could love anyone.

I have certainly had to adjust my expectations of him and that’s ok. I still have days, especially as Caleb gets older and passes Mason’s current level of development, where my heart breaks for both of us.

I still wonder what happened inside his brain that caused him to lose the skills he had already developed. But most days, I learn from him.

I have seen joy greater than money can buy in the simplicity of rocks.

I’ve seen thrills greater than any roller coaster jumping on a couch cushion. And I have felt love deeper than any canyon when this child smiles and says with his eyes I love you mommy.

Written by, Sarah Farrants

My name is Sarah and I am a 30 something year old wife and mother of 2. My husband Andrew and I have been married since September 2015 and together we are raising our children Mason, Caleb and Steve (our fur baby). In many ways, we are just like every other family but, having a non verbal, autistic child is what sets us apart. You can follow our story at Through the Looking Glass and on Facebook.

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