Son, My Promise to You
Hey there, kiddo. It’s me, your mom.
Today you turn nine. Nine.
In some ways, it seems like just yesterday I was sitting at our family’s summer camp with a positive pregnancy test in my hand.
So excited, waiting to call your Dad to tell him the good news.
Wondering, when I could tell your Grandma and Grandpa they were going to become first-time Grandparents. And, to be honest, worrying and hoping that that vacation margarita wasn’t going to be a problem.
In other ways, it feels like these past nine years with you have been an unrelenting uphill battle.
Last night, I saw a post in a special needs group I am in. It was from a mom whose son was just diagnosed with autism.
On one hand, she felt relief, relief that she had an answer to the nagging feeling she’s had a for a while. On the other hand, she just received an official diagnosis, a report that puts into writing that her son has a disability.
The final word that makes things go from, “I wonder,” to “I know.”
Once you have a diagnosis, what no one prepares you for is the overwhelming pressure of time and uncertainty.
See, when your children are developing typically, you wonder about their future, but with a sense of hope, optimism, and excitement. The future is nearly guaranteed for your neurotypical child.
Once your child is diagnosed with a disability, that guarantee instantly vanishes. Poof, one minute it was there, the next minute, it is gone.
Instead, optimism gets replaced with fear. Will your child speak, learn to read, have friends, get a license, go to college, get a job, get married, or live independently?
Will they be happy, and healthy, and loved? With that newfound fear, you quickly become aware of your own mortality.
If your child isn’t able to be independent, who is going to be there to keep a roof over his head, food in his belly, and meet his basic needs, when you’re gone?
I’m sorry, kiddo. For a long time, I let the pressure and fear of your unknown future consume me.
I did crazy things in the hopes that I could cure you.
I took you all over New England to meet with doctor after doctor. Some of them were great and others not so much.
I put you on a gluten-free, soy-free, dairy-free, and corn-free diet. I had your blood and hair tested.
I had your genetic makeup tested. I gave you supplements. I read blogs and testimonials looking for a magic bullet to take away the autism.
I wanted nothing more than to remove the paralysing fear of disability and uncertainty from our lives, and to bring back a guaranteed future.
In this process, I forgot one of the most important things about your development and your life.
Is he happy?
While you were dragged around, supplemented, and enrolled into a million different programs, there you were, right in front of me. Smart, charming, sweet, loving, kind, and most importantly, happy.
As your mom, I confess I’m sorry that some of the choices I made out of fear took away your joy.
I am working on my fear.
I have had nine years of learning about the neurology of your brain. You have also had nine years of working with your own neurology as well.
I think we are both settling into our life nicely.
I want you to know, I no longer view your autism as a thief. Instead, it’s more like living with an inconsiderate roommate.
You care about your roommate and their company is great, however, you just can’t understand why they can’t put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher instead of next to the sink.
Maybe, over the next nine years, you will teach your momma why it’s okay to put the dirty dishes next to the sink instead of the dishwasher because I still have so much to learn.
Until then though, I promise you one thing. Every decision I make will not be based on who you will be in the future.
My careful decisions will not be made based on fear or pressure.
Instead, I will ask myself, “Will this decision help you continue to find joy in your life?” If the answer is no, sweet boy, we will move on and leave the choice behind.
It took me nine unrelenting years to get here, however this my son, is my promise to you.
Written by, Sarah Fabrizio
I am a coffee addict, professional dabbler, and mother of two who is pretending she has it all figured out. My passion is connecting with special needs parents and spreading autism awareness with some humor mixed in. You can follow all of our adventures over on my blog Raising Mr. Mischief find on us on Facebook https://www.
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.
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