They Walk

See these two boys?

They are brothers. One is 10 and one is 8. They both have birthdays coming up and at least once a day I hear…

‘First Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Cooper’s birthday and then mine!’

This family loves their birthdays.

This photo may look like no big deal and when I snapped it, as the little brother walked his older brother into his first day of school this year, I remember pausing and thinking…this is it. This is what I prayed for.

Every day. While driving. In the shower. In the middle of the night when I would wake up and tuck the covers up around my boy’s ears.

This.

They rely on each other. They are each other’s person. Now. Today. But not always.

I have a part in my book about walking together when they were little.

It’s really hard to share. Because I worry about judgement of my first born. And autism. And my parenting. But it’s also a very real reality of autism.

I think that sharing the hard parts and how far we have come as a family is vital. Because out there, in the world, there is a family just like ours was.

Who can’t walk safely. Who hides. Who needs hope to keep going. Who needs to believe it can get easier.

We were at a shopping mall.

Cooper was 4. Autism had just been said out loud and written in his chart. Nonverbal. Severe. Level three. All the descriptors branded on our foreheads.

We were just learning. Figuring it all out.

Sawyer was 2 and every bit his age. He never stopped talking. He lived in costumes and wore a swimsuit every day to daycare.

The mall was getting crowded as I knew it would be. But I only needed one thing. A gift. So I buckled them both in our double stroller, Cooper’s knees practically touching his chin, and went for it.

I just needed 20 minutes.

It was loud. And hot. The lines were long. It was sensory overload at its finest. He did the best he could. Until he couldn’t.

He screamed and thrashed and threw elbows and knees and practically tipped the stroller over. I let him out, trying to push the stroller and hold him and it was game over. I knew I had to get him out of there.

I let Sawyer out of his seat and did everything I could to calm Cooper. He couldn’t be calmed.

Everyone was staring. Their eyes burned into me. Maybe there were some kind looks amidst the crowd but I didn’t seem them. Only judgement.

I turned around and saw my Sawyer standing, eyes wide, watching me and his brother. He looked so small. Two. Two is a baby still.

‘Sawyer, I need you to follow mom. I need you to walk as fast as you can alongside of me.’

I left the stroller. And I picked up Cooper and started walking. Fast. I could hardly hold his rigid yet jello-like body.

Sawyer followed behind, half running to keep up.

Every so often would reach his hand up and a leg would kick it away. I couldn’t hold his hand too. I looked back the entire way to the car, watching him, willing him to keep up.

We made it to the car. And after they were both buckled into their car seats I sat in my own and sobbed. The guilt consuming me.

It’s been years and I can still feel the sweat on my lower back and the fear in my throat. It was one of my hardest moments.

It wasn’t Cooper’s fault. He’s not too blame. It was too hard for him to be there. And autism was so new…I didn’t know. And Sawyer. A little brother.

So as I watched these two walk into school together…hand-in-hand…laughing, smiling, even high fiving.

And me trailing behind.

They made it. We made it.

They walk. Together. Equally.

If this story touches you, I would be so very honored if you preordered my book, Forever Boy, today.

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.