Brother, I don’t Understand Autism

I don’t understand you Cooper. And I really don’t understand autism.

Do you know that I used to think autism was an actual thing. Like an object.

Mom would say you have autism. And you’d get a cookie. Or get to have your Kindle at dinner.

And I’d want autism too. Only, I didn’t have it. I was the different one.

Mom and dad always say that they don’t have to worry about me. I guess because I don’t have autism.

And I guess because I talked. And potty trained myself. And loved to hit baseballs.

For as long as I can remember, people have come to the house to see you. They bring toys. And they try and play with you.

Only, you don’t play with them. You ignore them. Just like you ignore me.

Other people come too. To talk about autism.

Long conversations about therapies and money. And about how sometimes you hit and pick your skin and run out the front door.

Sometimes they whisper. Or ask me to leave the room.

They talk so long that sometimes I get tired of it.

It feels like every visitor is here to talk about your autism. That thing I wanted to have too. So people would come and see me.

I asked mom once why I didn’t have it. See in our house, your autism has never been a bad thing. At least, not to mom and dad.

So I wanted it too.

I remember she looked shocked when I asked.

I overheard her later that night saying she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Raising two little boys side-by-side. One with autism. And one without.

And again I thought, why am I the one without.

That was a long time ago. Back when you were different Cooper.

You used to be alone all the time. You were in your room. Or hiding under mom’s bed. Or behind the couch.

You watched baby shows. Always the same. You ignored me. Never once did you play with me. Not once.

I don’t understand why you have to make everything so hard.

Mom and dad would have to count to ten to get you to stand by me for a picture.

And now, you are different. Again. I’ve learned that autism is always changing.

Mom says we can never stand still. I’m not sure what that means either.

You are bigger now. You are around more. Mom says there is hope. That one day you will talk to me.

I don’t understand you Cooper.

I don’t understand why you get so mad at me.

Sometimes I feel like it’s just me.

If I cry. Or yell. You get so mad at me. And I don’t think it’s fair.

You scare me sometimes.

And you make mom worried.

The other day you got really mad about something. More mad than you have ever been before.

Nothing bad happened. But mom was really tired after. So was I.

So I asked mom and dad to make you go away. To send you away somewhere.

And when she said no, I said, well, then, make me go away.

If I go away, maybe you won’t be so mad all the time.

Mommy gasped when I said that.

More whispers from mom and dad.

I guess I’m going to talk to someone. That’s what mom says.

I overheard her say that I am experiencing trauma.

I guess I don’t know what that means really.

I just know that she’s making phone calls and asking friends who have kids like you for ideas about how to help me.

I just want to understand autism. And why sometimes you get so mad. And why you ignore me. And why you hug me sometimes.

It’s confusing to me.

Mom says that someday I’ll see the beauty in all of this.

She tells me I’m the lucky one. That we all are. Because we know you.

But right now, I don’t know if I believe that.

I told mom that I want to help kids like you when I’m older. And she said that I am amazing. That I’m an old soul. And that I’m special.

I just want to be your friend brother. And to understand autism.

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