I Know Why He Has Autism
My son Jack has autism. It impacts the way he eats, sleeps, moves, talks, and thinks.
He is considered special-needs, because his needs are special.
He needs to jump and hope to quiet the imaginary ants that race along his limbs all day.
He needs medicine to cope with his overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety.
He needs to
I have a child with special needs. Sometimes, I can’t believe it myself.
I mean, it’s easy to understand the who and the what and the where and the how of it all.
My son has autism.
It is in his brain and his heart and his soul and his body. It is the result of a complicated mutation in genetics and DNA.
Yet there are times when I don’t understand the why.
Why did I, of all people, have a boy who needs medicine every night just to sleep.
Who battles intrusive thoughts and picks at his cuticles until they bleed and likes to ask people personal questions the minute he meets them.
For so long I wanted a crystal ball to see into his future.
Once he walked, I wanted him to run.
When he said his first word, I wished for a sentence.
When he was in second grade, I worried about fourth grade.
And now, life after high school.
For months, we researched programs all over the country. We filled out applications. We checked boxes. Carefully, he signed his name at the bottom.
We heard rejection after rejection. We learned about the limited opportunities for neurodiverse thinkers—limited spots all over the country.
I slowly panicked. I knew if we didn’t find something, he would sit in our house like a bird inside a gilded cage, and watch the world go by.
Then one wintry afternoon, a letter in the mailbox.
Dear Jack, I am honored to offer you a spot in our program for the upcoming year.
Just like that, a ceiling became a floor.
I am a Forever Mother. I’ve just recently begun to come to terms with this. In one way or another, I will take care of this boy for the rest of my life.
What will happen when I die?
I think about this constantly.
Time is slipping through my fingers.
Time is standing still.
In my minds eye, I see all the earlier versions of myself.
A young mother at the IEP table.
A shadow removing candles from a cake.
A silhouette walking to the bus stop, his hand in mine.
Who am I?
Who is he?
Who can he be?
I have a child with special needs. No matter how hard this is for me, it is a million times harder for him.
On the days my heart is squeezing, his is shattering.
When I am gasping for air amidst autism’s rising tide, he is nearly drowning.
The thing is, once in a lifetime, you get the chance to meet a person who is unlike any other person you have ever met.
A person who is complicated, and honest, and tenacious, and pure.
Who never stops reaching for the clouds, no matter how many raindrops he wipes from his eyes.
I root for him. With every breath, I root for his happiness.
My boy, my caged bird, my sun and my moon and my heart.
Ceilings do indeed become floors.
He is reaching for all that is rightfully his.
He is simply reaching for different clouds.
I’ll never know why he has autism.
Every day it matters less and less.
TracyEllen Carson Webb
November 15, 2022 @ 12:48 pm
I think watching my son try to sign his name is one of the hardest things ever.