Hope is a Funny Thing

Hope is a funny thing. It ebbs and flows. It even changes over the years.

When I found out I was pregnant for the second time I hoped I wouldn’t miscarry. I hoped for a happy, healthy, ‘like every other kid I knew’, baby. I secretly hoped for a girl too.

When I found out I was having a boy at 20 weeks, and that we would name him Cooper, I hoped for baseball games, camping, swimming, biking and fishing. I hoped for endless conversations and a beautiful family. I hoped I wouldn’t gain too much weight and that I would be a good mom.

When I delivered my sweet boy, I hoped he would breathe. I hoped his low Apgar scores didn’t mean anything. I hoped that he would be fine. Normal. Healthy.

The first few weeks I hoped he would nurse. And sleep. I hoped I would be a good mom. I hoped I was doing everything right.

The first few years I hoped for words and smiles and milestones. I hoped he would stack blocks and wave at our neighbor and point to an airplane. And I hoped it wasn’t autism, a word that I had found late at night after one too many glasses of wine and googling. I hoped he was just a late bloomer. I hoped that boys really were lazy. I hoped so much I would scream it in my head.

After the diagnosis, I hoped he would catch up. I hoped I was doing enough. I hoped he would learn to say words and make a friend and ride a bike. I hoped he would acknowledge his brother and show affection and develop a hobby. I hoped he wouldn’t be nonverbal forever. And secretly, I hoped his autism would go away. And then I hoped he wouldn’t be severe. And then I hoped I was strong enough to do this forever. I hoped and hoped and hoped.

And then, after some brutal self-discovery and a lot of hard years, I realized I wasn’t hoping for the right things.

See, daily people were asking me what my son’s future looked like. They’d say things like, ‘well, hopefully he improves. Hopefully, he starts talking. Don’t give up hope. You just need hope.’

I would stare at these people and I would be dying on the inside. It felt like they were hoping for his autism to go away. And I knew deep down that would never happen. But to make them feel better I would smile and nod and say, ‘yes, hopefully someday.’

Then one day I stopped. When people asked me if he would learn to talk or live on his own, I would say, ‘maybe, maybe not.’ I would explain that he may never talk. And that he may live with us forever, but that it would still be okay. I explained that Cooper’s autism will never go away. That it is part of him like his blonde hair and his beautiful eyes.

People looked at me like I was crazy. They said I had given up hope. That I had become negative. But that was far from the truth.

I realized I was keeping up this false hope of Cooper ‘getting better’ to make everyone else feel better. And because of it, I wasn’t living in reality. In a way I was almost hoping for a different boy. A different life. And that was very wrong.

It’s a journey folks. One that may take years. And me and hope, well, it’s evolved into something beautiful.

Now, I know longer hope for A’s on a test or some big job. Instead, I hope my son is happy. Truly happy.

I hope he is loved and adored by everyone who meets him. I hope for smiles and hugs. I hope for learning. I hope for new hobbies.

I hope he can help the world understand severe autism. I hope he feels good and can tell me when he doesn’t. I hope he can achieve as much independence as possible.

I hope I can live forever and keep him safe. And if I don’t live forever, I hope and pray I can learn to trust the world with my most precious gift.

I hope and I hope and I hope. I have never stopped hoping. But I’ll tell you this, all my hopes are realistic now. I’ve made it to where I should be. To the land of realistic hope.

My son’s autism is never going away and he may never talk but he is going to have an amazing life full of love and joy.

That’s my kind of hope.

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, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.