My life as an autism mama consists of not enough sleep, a lot of cleaning and cooking, some anxiety drugs and an occasional glass of wine or vodka/club. From time to time it includes tantrums, screaming, middle-of-the-night awakenings.
It is what it is. I can’t imagine it any other way. Because it also includes love and laughter, hugs and cuddling, milestones and miracles.
I care for two special children with everything I have for one simple reason: because they need me to. I stopped praying a long time ago for God to make the autism go away. He/she didn’t listen, no matter how hard I cried, or how loud I screamed, or how much I begged.
Most of the time, I do a pretty good job of focusing on the good. I have beautiful, smart, loving, healthy children. A nice home, a wonderful husband, an incredible extended family, great friends. Enough money in the bank.
I get more breaks than a lot of autism mamas, because my kids visit their dad every other weekend. As severe as Brielle’s disability is, I know many autism moms whose kids are more challenging. I count my blessings. As tough as things can get in my home, I consider myself pretty damn lucky.
As Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself thinking often about my children, each amazing in their own unique way. About my mom, who passed away 30 years ago this year. About my two awesome aunts, my maternal role models. And about my incredible mother-in-law, a sweet, loving gift from God.
But all week, I keep thinking about another mom, a friend and former colleague living on the other side of the country, fighting a battle no mama should ever have to fight. Her youngest son, 10, was diagnosed last year with a very rare and fast-growing form of brain cancer. Chemotherapy didn’t kill the tumor, and hospice care began last month.
I know there was a part of her dreading this Mother’s Day. Her life right now is about spending every minute possible — and making every memory possible — with this incredible kid who I never met, but who brightens the world with his smile and his optimism. I know I see only a shadow of what she is going through, via her posts on social media.
She, like me, is a warrior mother, who has found strength and love she never knew she had. But my strife pales in comparison to hers. What could I possibly say to this mom to ease her pain? There are no words. I can’t begin to imagine what she is going through. All I can do is pray for her and her family. Hope for a miracle.
Life is short. Too short. Cherish it.
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