We Always Come Home to Each Other

Back when my son was diagnosed with autism, what now feels like a lifetime ago, I used to hyper fixate on certain things.

Things I hoped he would do.

Things I was scared would never happen.

Goals.

Dreams.

Fears.

I used to be so scared I’d never get grandchildren. Crazy right? I mean he was 4 years old and I was thinking about being a grandma.

Or his graduation. Would we have one?

Would he ever drive?

Go to prom?

Have a first kiss? Heartbreak?

All I can say is I was human. And I worried. And wondered. Because autism was this mystery to me. An unknown future.

When we learned he was nonspeaking at age 5, or nonverbal, a condition I didn’t understand, I hyper fixated again.

But mostly on the words I dreamed he would say.

And the fear of the words I might never hear.

‘I love you mom.’

Or even ‘good night mom.’

I would study him for hours wondering what he was thinking. Praying that he could learn to communicate. In any way possible.

Cooper is 11 now. A fifth grader.

The diagnosis of autism is not new anymore. We’ve settled into it. Like a place we live. It’s comfortable. A bit restricting at times. But not so surprising. We know what to expect…usually. We have a map of sorts, in our minds and hearts, that gets us around. And he is the tour guide.

And we know getting lost isn’t all that bad sometimes. Because we always find our way back home.

Cooper is my person. And I am his. As if we are connected by a long rope. It stretches farther these days. He can go to school and to grandmas. And I can go to the store and out for coffee.

Because we always come home to each other.

He waits for me when I leave the house. Always on this couch, waiting at the window. So when I pull up, the first thing I see is that blonde head. And then a point. A smile. A wave.

When I open the door to the house he runs to me. Every time. He wraps his arms around me and hugs me as if he hasn’t seen me for weeks.

He does the same thing every morning. He hugs me as if I just returned from some long journey.

11 years in and I don’t worry quite as much about driving a car, graduating from high school, or having grand babies.

And the words I may never hear, the ‘I love you,’ well, the longing has dulled.

Dulled by the hugs and the gasps and the waiting in windows.

The smile he gives me when he sees me after what has felt like an eternity to him. The rope short and tight again.

‘Hi buddy. I love you too.’

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.