(H)OOO-RAY!

After two long days of Speech and Language Workshop, follow-up sessions and evaluations, I'm quite beat. But happy beat. There's nothing more rewarding and affirming than coming home to my two little royalties kissing me full on the lips and embracing me with the tightest hug they can will their little boys' arms to ease their mama's tired body and mind, like they're saying to me in their own nonverbal way, "You did good, Mama. And boy, are we glad you're home now."

It's been 5 years. This roller coaster life of autism. Garret was diagnosed April 2008, three months after I gave birth to Morgan. And Morgan, diagnosed almost two years ago. A slew of therapists, therapy sessions, teachers, methods. How do I briefly explain what a roller coaster life we have been living? Well, everything has been an adventure. And as all adventures go, it's full of unknown pathways, surprising rewards, terrible emotional breakdowns, severe testing of your faith and sometimes the losing of oneself in the uncharted ocean of humanity and a constant questioning of fate, destiny, determinism, will, choices, control, peace, joy and life in general.

The Autistic mind is a literal mind in more ways than one. It's part of their social impairment. They have difficulty understanding hidden meanings. So for the sake of those who want a clearer, more "literal" description of what living with autism is like, let me explain it in no other way than in literal terms. If only to put oneself in the shoes of my two boys.

It's like you wanting to go to an amusement park. And you line up for one of the many many adventure rides. You wait in anticipation for the excitement, the exhilaration you will surely feel, the fear of what could possibly happen to your body and mind while on the ride. The beauty and terror of it all. And you hold this conviction in your heart that no matter what happens, you will have fun. And you will have something to talk about afterwards. Funny stories. Good stories about the ride. So your turn comes up, you hand over your ticket to the operator. You climb into the car, buckle your seat belt, they put the protective gear over your head. And you wait. You hear the engine roaring to life and you are moving, slowly at first, dipping down moderately, and then, the tracks go berserk! And you are screaming your lungs out, "AAAAAAAAH" for enjoyment or "NOOOOOOOOOO!" for terror. "Don't stop the ride!" or "What the hell was I thinking?" And, when you think that you can almost die, you don't because the tracks suddenly turn itself the normal horizontal way. Until it swerves again and you are upside down out of your mind.

Do you get it now? Do you feel the sheer amazement and terror of that one adventure ride you chose to take? Well, I do. Every single day. And my boys do too. Every magnified second of everyday. I've been on the high end of the spectrum of hope for my boys and on the deepest end of the line of desperation. From wanting them to be "normal" at one point to accepting them for what the Universe created them to be at another more poignant stance. From looking on at other families who seem to have their boys recover from autism to caring less about my boys being able to speak and appreciating more what they have brought to my life-- a million life changing lessons that just about altered my entire universe.


Last night, I sang to my little prince-- "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands..." He sitting on my belly as I lie down tired from the days' activities, smiles profusely his prince charming smile. I clap my hands and I say to him, "You do." I was attempting to do the new techniques our Speech and Language therapist trained me to do. Attempting and not really getting all assertive as I had no physical strength left to do a serious application from the lessons I've learned in the workshop. He looks at me and claps. Something he has never been able to do many years ago! And then we get to the point where I sing, "If you're happy and you know it shout, hooray!" I stop just before I sing the last "Hooray" giving him a chance to respond. And you know what, he just did. My little prince sang, eyes crinkling, grinning from ear to ear, "Oooo-ray!" And it seemed like my chest was pounded by some paramedic by a defibrillator, giving me what seemed like a thousand joule bolts and the life line on the monitor just went from one horizontal line to a jagged sign of life! And we repeated the song 10 times and each time, he shouted, " OOOO-RAY!"

With my renewed strength, I move on to Morgan. He jumping on the bed, I holding both his hands letting him now, I am with him, letting him take the lead. I say, "Yes, jump." "Morgan jump". I then kept quiet and waited. And he looks at me continues jumping and says, "UMP!." And I smile saying, "Good saying Jump, Morgan!" He looks at me some more, cheeks all pink and sweat beads forming on his upper lip, smiling his widest grin and verbalizing, "eh-yah". Bea?, I ask myself silently. My heart was beating loudly, assuring my brain, yes, he said your name. Again, it was as if I was jolted back to life. I joined my feisty king, I jumped on the mattress with him!


A slew of therapies, therapists, schooling. 5 years. 5 wonderful, adventure-filled years. 1825 days of beauty and terror. Amazement and desperation. Routine and crazy unpredictability. Hope and impossibilities. Compassion and cruelty from all around. Questioning my purpose, the reason for autism in my boys and sometimes definitive answers and affirmations and sometimes even more depressing answers. And this weekend just brought my roller coaster car to a momentary stop in the swerving tracks and onto a horizontal view of what lies beyond. Telling me, reminding me, "Look at the sky. Just look at everywhere around you. Everything is where it's supposed to be. The clouds floating up there, the sea glistening blue down there, the trees rooted firmly to the ground with their branches raised up in heaven as if saying, Yes! I am where I am meant to be." Like our speech and language therapist telling me, "Bea, just tell your boys what you want them to do once and wait for their response. Relax and wait." With this realization sinking in, I breathe deep. Feel every beat of my raging heart slowing down to a calm steady pace, assuring me with its every pulse, my purpose in this life-- my boys. Then the coaster dips again, round and round...And I guess, this time, every fiber of my soul is singing, no shouting in amazement and maybe with a little terror but always with a longing for more adventure---

"OOOO-RAY!" and yes of course, my heart is on its feet, no less than jumping! :)