Our Dream Home

We moved this past spring. My husband and I found the perfect place. 

Five acres, off the road, down a long winding lane lined with trees, no neighbors, surrounded by nothing but farm fields.

The property boasts a three car garage with a spare room on top. A barn that’s been gutted and restored, as well as a fish pond that is spring fed. The previous owners planted fruit trees- apples, pears, peaches, and cherries. Grapes hang from the vine, begging to be picked. It only gets better.

The inside of the 1800s farmhouse was completely renovated. A new custom kitchen with stainless steel appliances, hand-built cabinets, and one of those fancy sinks that turns on without being touched. There are giant picture windows throughout the house and the light shines brightly off of the wooden floors that have been stripped, sanded, and refinished.

The winding staircase leads to three bedrooms, two of them already painted in whimsical designs perfect for our boys.  A master bedroom so big that it has two walk in closets. There is a linen closet AND a coat closet as well.

Down the hall, white subway tile shines and leads to the biggest bathroom that I’ve ever seen – I’m talking pedestal sinks and one of those showers with a bench built in and three shower heads The laundry room has heated floors and one of those strange things in the baseboard that you can sweep dirt into. The patio is complete with dri-lay pavers surrounded by flower beds and herb garden.

It was love at first sight. 

We had to have it. There was little discussion as we drove away because we both knew it was perfect. We made the offer and they accepted. Easy. Effortless. Meant to be.

Four weeks later, our second child was diagnosed with autism. My world came crashing down. I was expecting the diagnosis. I was the one pursuing it. I needed to hear it from an expert in the field.

I had been doctor google for too long now. We had been on a waiting list for this appointment since his 2nd birthday. I knew in my heart of hearts that we would be leaving that appointment with a diagnosis. And we did. Along with devastating reports from every specialist that we saw during those two days.

Time stood still in that doctors office for us. We will never be the same again. Our lives changed that day. We had new priorities. Our dreams had shifted. 

We moved a month later.

Now, as I sit here in this beautiful home, I feel numb. I miss our old house, I say to my husband. He reminds me gently that this move needed to happen.

We had three kids in a two bedroom house.

I snap at him angrily and tell him I’m not happy and I think we should start looking at houses again. He tells me that I’m not going to be happy in another house either. He’s probably right. 

But I do miss the old house. It was where we started our life together, got married, brought all of our babies home. I miss the old kitchen with the electric stove and the crappy baseboard heat, and that dip in the driveway that always filled with water for the boys to run through.

I miss the garage where we had crazy parties in our pre-baby days. I miss the little bedroom that we fixed up during my first pregnancy and painted three times because I couldn’t decide on a color.

I miss the family room that we designed and built together to give our little ones more room to run and play. I miss relaxing on the porch swing and talking about our days.

I miss being able to relax. I miss things being easy.  I miss being happy.

Mostly, I just miss our life before autism took over. Before I worried all the time. When things were still normal. When I was happy. Before everything was hard. 

I can’t seem to find my footing here in this new house. I still have unpacked boxes in the basement and garage. I don’t know where any of our stuff is. I can’t seem to find my rhythm. 

I’m drowning in dirty dishes and dirty clothes. I feel lost. And it seems easier to blame it on the house, and the move, and even my husband. But in reality, it’s because of autism.

That dream home looks a lot different through the dark lenses of autism. 

The pond that I thought was so beautiful, is now my greatest fear. Put up a fence immediately. Children with autism are attracted to water. The chance of drowning is greatly increased. I can’t take my eyes off of him even for a second.

That spare room over the garage? We’ll need to turn that into our therapy room for ABA, OT, and speech. 

Those five acres are nice, but five acres is a lot of ground to cover when your nonverbal toddler elopes.  No matter how many times you call his name, he doesn’t respond. The panic in your heart when you lose your child is something I can’t even begin to describe. 

Those beautiful rolling farm fields that surround us are sprayed regularly by the nice old farmer…are those chemicals harming my child, who can’t detox like most people? 

The small town is the perfect location…until we realized that the services that our child needs are nowhere to be found. 

The massive three car garage we intended for my husband’s workshop sits mostly unused. We have no free time for creating things these days. And even if we did, we are too tired. 

That custom kitchen is nothing but depressing when I can’t get my son to eat anything with nutritional value because he only eats three things now. Family mealtime is a joke.

That master bedroom would be the perfect oasis for me…if I could ever get my child to fall asleep and then sleep through the night. 

Those adorable mountains painted on the walls of the bedroom…I now grit my teeth while I scrub smeared feces off of them.

The lovely open concept living room is now a prison that I can’t leave because my son will inevitably meltdown over a show he has watched 100 times and I am the only one who can calm him. 

The sheer size of the house is overwhelming when I can’t let my son out of my sight. He will eat something, climb something, bite someone, or destroy something. 

The weight of autism is killing me. It’s killing my marriage, and even my kids.

We are almost a year post diagnosis. I struggle to survive most days. This isn’t what I planned. This dream house has turned into a nightmare.

Written by, Anonymous

This piece was shared with Finding Cooper’s Voice by a mother who has asked to stay anonymous.