I give you permission to rest mama. To set down what you are carrying. I can see the weight of it all. You carry it so well. People call you inspiring. They speak of you as an inspiration. Someone to aspire too. But the weight is no lighter for you than for anyone else. I know that. And so often, the world overlooks and forgets to see the ones who carry the weight well. You are tired mama. So, put it down. I give you permission. Take the day. The…
I just got home from two days away from my babies. When my husband pulled up in the arrivals section of the airport, I practically ran to the vehicle. There is nothing better than coming home. Sawyer, one of my middles, opened the door and jumped in my arms. My other middle, Harbie, screamed….’mommy!! I’ve. Been. Waiting. For. You!’ And my daughter, Wynnie, she was all smiles. With Cooper, he’s more standoffish. A wave. A coy smile. When I climbed back to him, he immediately grabbed my hand and pulled…
“When the professionals first told me about autism, they described it to me as a spectrum. When I pictured that spectrum, the one they described to me, I imagined a long line drawn with a thick black sharpie across a white wall, down an endless hallway. I hated the black and white and the dark, sad, clinical parts of autism. I hated straight lines too. So I started thinking of my son and his autism as a spectrum of color, like I did in the beginning, before the fear and…
I think a lot about what a privilege it is to be able to communicate and be understood. Probably more than the average person. Not always of course. When my son was 1 and 2 and even 3-years-old, and not babbling, I remember crying in worry on the phone to my mom and her saying…’everybody talks Katie.’ I can still here her saying it. The words providing so much comfort at first. Even my dad sneaking in…’I just know he is going to talk sweetheart.’ Well, here we are. 11-years-old…
It doesn’t have to make sense to me. Or you. Because it makes sense to him. My son Cooper loves things. Treasures we call them. DVD cases stacked up tall. The actual DVDs in a bin in the cupboard. Books. Piles of paper. Every color. Train magazines from long before he was born. And a very special pile. A smaller one. Of pages ripped out of certain publications. Each one containing something of value to him. Train Calendars. Postcards. Photos in frames to his back. Every so often pointing to…
“I recently stumbled upon a definition of the word autism. It was different than the clinical one I was used to. The Maori word for autism is takiwatanga. Translated it means, “In one’s own time and space.” I fell in love with it. Cooper. Me. Our family. We all settled into autism in our own time and space. I used to be scared of forever. I’m not anymore. Now I am thankful. Because I get forever, with my boy.” There is so much beauty in this life. We just have…
I heard his little voice before I saw him. ‘Cooper. Cooper. We don’t hurt our body. We love it.’ I peeked around the corner. What I saw made me gasp. The three year old who wants to be 9 like his next older brother. Blonde hair. Bare feet. Scabbed over knees from a crash on his bike. A Paw Patrol costume half on. He was holding a Ninja Turtle in one hand. The other hand was stretched out. Holding his older brother’s hand. Cooper. He is 11 years old. And…
I fell this morning. Like a legit fall. I bounced back up quick but I knew I had hurt my knee. I pulled up my pant leg and sure enough a huge bruise was already forming. I’ll also admit my ego was a bit bruised too. Falling. So embarrassing! Thankfully, no one saw me. Or so I thought. Minutes ago I heard a familiar sound coming from my son’s iPad. The Daniel Tiger episode where Miss Elaina gets hurt. I watched Cooper, sitting cross legged on the ground, move his…
Excerpt from the final chapter (my favorite) of Forever Boy: The words from the professionals ran through my head. ‘Your child will never talk, ride a bike or make a friend.’ ‘Your child has the most severe case of autism I have ever seen.’ ‘If a child doesn’t speak by age four then game over.’ When we reached the end of the road, which happened way earlier than I thought it ever would have, I said no more. The world, society, me…we were all trying to make Cooper into something…
My sweet boy, This morning I looked back on something I wrote a year ago. About a hard moment we had. And as I sit here, I can’t believe how much progress you have made in 12 months. You are thriving Cooper. You are figuring this confusing world out. And we are figuring out how to balance it all. Walking alongside you. Stepping back when you got it. Paving the way when you need help. It’s a delicate dance. A push pull. I hope we are doing it all right.…
