I was looking through old photos over the weekend and I came across one of me carrying my daughter with one hand and pushing a double stroller with another. We were at a local fair, my son must have been off running around with his dad or his grandma.
That photo was taken when my son was not yet 3 years old and my daughter was 15 months. By then, my son had already been diagnosed with what was then known as PDD-NOS — Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified — a wordy diagnosis some kids are given if they have some behaviors seen in autism but don’t meet the full criteria for autism. He was later diagnosed with Asperger’s. That syndrome used to be distinct from autism, but in recent years they have just thrown them all into one big basket of developmental disorders. Not sure I agree with them, but it is what it is. It has helped him get the help he needs.
For me, hearing that my son had any disorder was devastating, debilitating. I remember feeling so sorry for myself. I was so confused, so depressed, so alone. Well, I wasn’t really alone, but I felt alone.
I lost my mom when I was a teenager. Every time there was a significant moment in my life, I mourned her all over again. When my son was diagnosed, I had plenty of family around to lean on, but I was so traumatized I withdrew, distancing myself from it all.
And silly me, I thought that was the worst of it. Little did I know that months later, I would be listening to another doctor diagnose my other child not with something kinda like autism, but full-blown autism.
My despair ballooned. I struggled to put on a happy face, to be a good mom, but inside I was dying. I struggled to understand that this was my life. Why me? Nobody else in my family had kids with special needs — and I would hope they never do. But still, what did I do to make God hate me so much?
My life spiraled out of control. I found myself needing to escape. Looking forward to work, looking forward to the times when I did not have to be dealing with my kids. It was not a good time. It was an awful time.
My marriage disintegrated and then exploded and I found myself divorced, living in a small condo with two special needs kids under the age of 6. It was a tough, tough time for me, but eventually, thankfully, I began to heal and accept my lot.
Somehow, the person that emerged became stronger, better. Over time, I transformed into a superwoman, an autism warrior.
It did not come overnight. The summer of my divorce, I took a friend’s advice to book a cabin where she and her family were staying for the summer. I told myself I could do it, I could go on vacation just me and my kids. Well, the cabin was very small, I had not brought enough supplies, and there were no good locks on the doors. I left my kids in the living room for five minutes to try to unpack and next thing I knew I heard my son calling for me. He stood next to an open back door, which was right next to a lake, and my daughter had waddled out and was standing at the water’s edge.
My heart dropped. I ran and scooped her up, and brought her back in the cabin, horrified and traumatized. Within a half hour, we were packed up and headed back home. I was nowhere near ready for that big step.
Over time, I got better. I learned to handle my two kids like a pro. I learned to appreciate my time with them, and enjoy motherhood. I learned to take time for myself when I could. And slowly, very slowly, I learned to embrace my life and my blessings.
There are days I wish I could go back and do it differently. Better. I wish I was a better mom to them back then. I wish I asked for help. I wish, I wish, I wish. If only.
I do know that everything that has happened in my life has made me who I am. I am stronger, more capable, more patient and more gateful. I appreciate my time with my kids, just as much as I look forwardto my time without them.
Amidst all the chaos, I somehow found love again, my true love. He accepts me and my kids, is always there for a hug, makes me smile, lets me cry when I need to, and is my partner in crime when I need to escape for a little while. And somehow — with six kids combined, a dog, a house, two full-time careers — we make it all work.
It is not the life I thought I would have. But it’s my life, and I’m blessed.
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