Lost in the ‘Possible’
A mum sent me a message earlier, about grief.
Grief and autism.
It may sound morbid, and it may not be the same for everyone, but this is absolutely a thing to me.
When my son was diagnosed, I did cry A LOT,
I cried any chance I could really, any time I was alone or any time the kids were all asleep at night, I cried.
I guess I still do, only now it’s not the same kind of cry…
To be told something so impacting, so unknown and so life changing in just a few meetings with someone you don’t know really, well…it is extremely confronting.
And like I’ve said before, it’s a roller coaster.
One minute I was OK, the next I simply wasn’t.
I felt like I was expected to just know how to do this, how to parent a child with autism.
Although, I felt the exact same way when my first child was born…OK and so is there some sort of checklist, a how to guide, some sort of schedule I need to follow?
No, it’s called being a parent. You can google it but it’s basically a game of chance and you may or may not stuff it up.
I may have been able to wing it before. Wing parenting and give it my best, but wing autism? That is an entire new level of pressure which is why in the early days, I feared I could never be enough.
Seeing our kids grow and watching their little personalities develop is usually so fun and heart warming, I thought ahead at times but never like I did when my son was diagnosed.
Once he was diagnosed I had no choice but to really think about how his future could possibly look.
When the Doctor said nonverbal I asked “But he will talk?”
His answer was statistical, practical and raw.
I asked “What can I do?”
His answer was statistical, practical and raw.
I went over that talk as much as I could, but it is so blurry, I was lost in looking at Rory and hearing the statistics.
I was lost in the world “Possible”.
It’s possible he will do this, it’s possible he will not.
A year plus later, I still find myself lost in the “Possible”.
There are things I find myself already surprised by and there are things I will continue to wonder over.
There was a series of “firsts”.
First Christmas knowing about autism, first birthday knowing he has autism, first special days knowing he has autism.
There was also a series of lasts, like the last Christmas before we knew he had autism.
For all the firsts and lasts, it is OK to let your self feel exactly how you do.
Letting yourself process the diagnosis is key to helping you fully embrace and find peace with it. You are allowed to take time to go through the roller coaster, you don’t need to apologise to anyone for needing time to process your new deck of cards.
In my world, in my little family, WE have Autism. Autism is almost like another member on our team and we all just had to figure out what that means for each of us.
I’m proud to say, we roll with autism.
I had an appointment for myself recently and the specialist asked about what it is I write. She then asked me “Does he know who you are?”
I couldn’t help but have a little smile. “He knows who I am, more than I do”.
It’s easy to get lost in thought, lost in the lists of things the therapists have told you to do and trying to remember all the upcoming events.
It’s easy to cry.
It’s not always easy, to be someone who is always somewhat lost, but yet knows himself and you, better than anyone.
I love you Rory, you are my possible.
Written by, Lucy Watts
You can follow Lucy on her Facebook page at Lucy Watts – Life & Autism.
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