Posts by Kate Swenson

When we are out in public, I don’t worry about how my autistic son will act. I don’t worry about his mannerisms. Or his uniqueness. Because I know exactly who he is and how he is going to behave. And that he is learning and growing. I know he will flap his arms in pure joy. I know he will run. And sit. And maybe feel the cool of the cement with his cheek. I know he will squeal. And hum. And laugh. I know he will wave to strangers…

Some kids never follow the beaten path…Whether it’s from birth or from a later date, some kids just don’t. They don’t meet milestones on time. They don’t follow the norm. They don’t do what every other kid is seemingly doing. My son Cooper is that way. Some people call him a free spirit. Some call him stubborn, even challenging. Autistic, disabled, special needs…all words thrown in. It’s hard sometimes. I won’t lie about that. Being different isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes bravery and courage and honesty with…

No one ever talks about autistic children growing up. In fact, when I used to worry and wonder about it, I would be almost scolded. Told to take it day by day, hour by hour. If I could do it over again, the beginning of our autism diagnosis, I wish I could have seen a glimpse of my boy. Today, he is 14 years old. An eighth grader. Next year he will be a freshman in high school. He still carries the same diagnosis. Severe, nonverbal autism. Not a lot…

I used to think the end game was speech. That was the goal and the dream for my nonverbal son. Words. Never ending questions. Conversations about trains and trucks. Of course I thought that. First time mom. A mom who knew nothing of the secret world of nonverbal. A mom who thought everybody talks. Eventually. ‘You need to prepare yourself for a life where Cooper never speaks.’ I’ll never forget that sentence. I was so mad. Angry. Livid. Crushed. I couldn’t imagine a world where my beautiful son didn’t speak.…

A letter to my little brother… Hey brother, I’m hoping that someday I can say this all to you. But there is a chance that I might never be able to…I’m hoping that when you are older you will read this and understand. I know my autism confuses you sometimes. I’m so loud. I flap my arms. I don’t notice toys. Or play sports. Or like to leave our house. I don’t play like you. I have never ridden a bike like you, and I don’t care at all about…

I’ve been sharing about autism for nearly ten years now. And over the years, I’ve read and heard and seen some things that have broken me. It’s par for the course I guess when you share publicly. These days though, I am more seasoned. I’ve learned to sit with comments for a bit before I respond. I try to listen and learn. I try to educate. I’m not perfect. But I try to do good in this world. The other day I read a comment that made me feel icky…

My sweet boy, We just got back from a car ride. We do that sometimes. You and me. We used to ride around to help you calm down. A much needed break for both of us to reset. Now we drive around and hunt for trains. Not a lot has changed over the years except now you are fourteen. And you can buckle your own seatbelt. A skill we worked on for years. A skill that you are incredibly proud of. You even check to make sure mine is buckled…

There is always next year…At age two we went to a restaurant for the last time. We started early intervention and learned how different our son was from his peers.At age three he was diagnosed with severe nonverbal autism, and we were told all the things he would never do.At age four we locked our house down. Three locks on every single door. Window alarms. Fences. We realized we couldn’t go places outside of our home. We started having aggressions and self injuring behavior. At age five it got really…

Someone once told me that my husband and I had a third and fourth children as replacements for our oldest son. See the little one on the left there with the mischievous smile? And the little princess in the yellow dress? Those two. I assume they wrote that comment to hurt me. Or to remind me what a crappy mom I am. Or maybe they were just angry and miserable. Who knows I guess. What a ridiculous statement though. A replacement child. I’m not sure why we would ever replace…