If I Let Myself Wonder Why
Sometimes I wonder why.
I would be lying to you if I said I never wondered why.
Why our family?
Why me?
Why my son?
Why him?
We are nothing special. We aren’t any stronger than anyone else. We aren’t super parents.
I don’t know if God chose us. Or if special kids are given to special people.
Or if we have Cooper because we are strong enough to handle the challenges that come with him.
I don’t feel like that stuff is true. Not really. I think that’s just something we say. When we don’t know what to say.
We are just normal, everyday, average, people.
A mom. And a dad. Who had a baby.
And I did everything right. I think it’s important to say that. Not for you. But for me.
I need to remind myself and reassure myself that I did everything right.
I took my prenatal vitamins. I went to the doctor. I exercised. Ate way too much ice cream. Never drank.
I grew a beautiful, healthy, strong boy in my stomach for 40 weeks.
And my son has autism. The severe kind. Which I’m not supposed to point out. But I do it anyways.
Again, for me.
Sometimes I want to know why so badly I could scream.
Usually after a meltdown. Or self-injurious behavior.
I’ll watch my son struggling so terribly. Hitting himself in the face.
Screaming. Struggling more than I personally have ever seen someone struggle.
I’ll be holding his body. To keep him safe. Always his head and his hands. Both weapons if I’m not careful.
And I’ll close my eyes tightly. And think why.
One word.
Why.
I’ll say it so many times in my head I’ll see stars.
Why, why, why.
Why can’t he talk? Why can’t he get a break from his anxiety? Why can’t he enjoy the world around him?
Why can’t he go to school? And play sports? And graduate from High School?
Why can’t he sit still? Or acknowledge his brothers? Or leave our house safely?
Why can’t it be easy? Just once.
Why does my son have autism?
Why not my friend’s kids? Or my sister’s kids? Why my son?
Why him and not another kid?
Why do some parents get a world free of autism? And before you yell at me, I am not talking about a world free of my son. Or the beautiful gifts he brings to my life. Because he is amazing.
I am talking about the struggles he faces every single day. The struggle to communicate. To understand the world.
And then there is the fight for services. The fight for inclusion? The fight for basic, simple rights.
And the not knowing who will care for him after I’m gone. The isolation. The anxiety.
The hard parts that others seem to be free of.
The whys.
Why my beautiful son?
And I don’t mean how either. I want to be clear about that. Because I don’t waste one second wondering how he got autism.
I care about the why.
I let myself wonder for a minute. Maybe five. While his body calms from the meltdown.
Wondering why is okay. Because I am human. And I love my son more than anything. And wondering why his life is hard is allowed.
We are both covered in sweat. He will finally relax and fall back into me.
I will whisper in his ear.
And then it’s done.
The meltdown. And the wondering why.
There is no point in dwelling. Not anymore.
Because there are no answers. None that I’ve been able to find anyways. It’s a question that will never be answered.
My son has autism.
He is exactly who he is supposed to be. And so am I.
I guess, maybe that is the answer to the why.
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