In the Right Direction

This morning as Garret was lining up with his classmates outside the classroom, getting ready for their 10 am class, one of his classmates remarked to him, "Hoy, dako!" I was nearby when I heard it and my chest immediately tightened. I inhaled deeply before telling the kid as calmly as I could, "His name is not 'Dako'. His name is Garret."

"Dako" in our vernacular means big.

Garret attends Kinder 1 classes. He is 9 years old. His classmates are 5-6 year-olds. Obviously he is physically taller and bigger than his classmates. But this is where his level of cognition and social skills roughly are. So we decided to place him in the level where he is most adaptive, and can relatively cope with the lessons and simply put, happy.

At this age it might be safe to say that these kids have no concept of discrimination yet. Yet. This is why at this very age, it is important to veer their perception of "differences" to the right direction before the discrimination escalates into plain bullying.

The kid's remark, "Dako" to my son clearly proves how he acknowledged that Garret was different, being bigger than the rest of them. I wonder with this acknowledgement, how much of it he understands or interprets as being, good, not good, acceptable, okay, not okay. Of course, it is not his fault if he perceives the being "big" as something not good because what he sees most of the time may be according to society's so-called "norm". The norm here being, his classmates in K1 should be of the same height or physical build. And who knows what else he considers the "norm" as he is taught at home and in other places.  I do hope though that he perceives "dako" as interesting, to begin with.

My mama bear instinct shot up upon hearing that kid's remark. Even though I was aware at the time that it may be my own interpretation of how the kid perceived his own words, I still felt compelled to defend my son and in the process educate his classmate.

What happened today may be my cue that it is the right time to talk to the entire class about their "big" classmate. If I'm lucky enough, their young minds may still be in the level where they indeed see something different as interesting. Where they see "not like them" as something to be curious and to learn more about.

Having said all that, what then could be the right direction where we could steer the ships of these youngsters' perception? Or for the rest of the population who are not young anymore but are in need of a change in perception?

Perhaps we could start with acknowledging the different. Acknowledging means not ignoring. How many of us have been taught that it's rude to stare at people? What happens instead of staring? We ignore people, don't look at them in the eye especially the ones who are "different". It's like the elephant in the room. Everybody knows it's there but nobody wants to acknowledge it. Now, what does that achieve? Nothing really, except awkwardness and discomfort. As an autism parent, I have had my fare share of stares in public places whenever I bring my boys to the grocery. What do I do? I look at them in the eye and smile at them. They have no choice but to smile back. Whether it was out of embarrassment that I caught them staring or whether they understood our predicament, I don't know. All I know is a smile is one way of breaking the "rudeness". It gives us autism parents a feeling of communal understanding, an assurance that even if our kids are having a meltdown at the mall, nobody is judging us or our kids. And especially during those times where we really don't have the strength anymore to smile at anybody, when a stranger shows us a kind, understanding face, it takes a fraction of a load off our shoulders. On this note, however let me say that there is a huge difference between acknowledgement and judgment. I think this is self-explanatory.

After acknowledging what is different then maybe we could move on to knowing more about the different.

Ignorance is not always bliss. It hurts our kids. It hurts the autism parents, the family members of the kid with autism. What is strange scares us. What is unknown brings anxiety. And the only way to eradicate fear and ignorance is to confront it. Google it, Autism, Down Syndrome, Global Developmental Delay, Cerebral Palsy, Mental Delay and all else. If you don't have internet connection, which I highly doubt, ask a pediatrician. Or ask us, ask the parents. Don't worry we won't bite. We would appreciate it even if you ask about our kids. Kindly, of course. But we will bite those who make snide, purposeful, ignorant remarks about our kids and our lives.

With knowledge comes a shift in paradigm. In perception. In beliefs. Which we hope will open the way to acceptance. If not acceptance, then tolerance to begin with. The shift in paradigm that we hope people will have when they know more about what our kids' disabilities are is the realization that all human beings are indeed created different. And that different is okay. Different is not something to be feared. Different is not something to be chiseled into the "norm". Different is the source where we voraciously learn from each other.

The ultimate direction that we hope people can arrive at, that kids can arrive at is celebration. A Celebration of the Different. To not only acknowledge, know and accept our children. But more importantly to marvel at their individual differences. Their own individual differences. That even we members of the neurotypical / normal race are remarkably different. To give value to all the quirks and various physical, cognitive and social facets of our children. Verbal or non-verbal. Restless or behaved. Short in height or tall. Small or Big.

Autism parents, special needs parents celebrate every milestone. There are no little achievements. Little is not in our vocabulary. Because we know the value of every single thing our children work hard for and accomplish every single day. Therefore we shout to the world their successes. We pause in our tracks and thank the heavens for the very persons our children are. We celebrate them. Every part of who they are.

What if parents of normal kids out there realize the value of even the minutest detail of their own children's efforts for striving and not just the first honor medals and valedictorian certificates? What if parents of neurotypical kids celebrate the kindness of their children and not just the 100 of every subject in their report cards? What if they celebrate their children who don't fit into the "old school" system, who learn through the arts and sports? What if parents celebrate how their children are able to learn life skills as simple as doing house chores willfully, cleaning up after their own messes, running errands efficiently not just how they read a thousand pages of Algebra and Calculus books? When that happens, then that will be the real celebration. That will be the real essence of the Celebration of the Different. 

"His name is not 'Dako'. His name is Garret." Garret's classmate looked at me silently seemingly afraid that I would reprimand him. I looked at his i.d. and said, "J, your classmate's name is Garret. Okay?" He still kept quiet. I offered him my palm for a high-five and smiled at him. He high-fived me, a smile slowly creeping into his face.

Come Monday next week, I'll be speaking to Garret's class and try the best way I can to steer them in the right direction of how they view the "different". How they see my big son. How they perceive Garret and his being different. Hopefully, they'll learn to accept that Big can be okay. That Big can be in fact, beautiful. And hopefully they will grow up and learn to celebrate the big, the different. 

Our One Day

"I love you,"
"You yuv mee."
"We're a happy family"
"Wee a gey bee huh"
"And a kiss from me to you"
"Won yoo say"
"You love me..."
"Choo.."

Today. I sing the first line of the ever famous Barney song. Garret sings the second line. And so on and so forth. We are lying on the bed on this rainy afternoon, my left hand holding his and we are singing. Together. Wait, let me rewind. Let me repeat that in case you missed one crucial point-- Garret is singing the lines, actually verbalizing the words. We finish the last notes of this song and my heart is twisted in knots marveling at how far my little prince have come.


July 18, 2013. Three weeks ago. My little Prince said the most beautiful word to my ears for the very first time. "Mama". When he said it three times, yes not just once, but one, two, three times, my world literally spun that I didn't know where to put their bug spray and their bag. I was stupefied, amazed, awed. All the synonyms of that emotion that leave your mouth hanging open and heart bursting at the seams would pretty much describe how I felt at that time until now.

I have heard too many testimonies of how when mothers saw their children for the first time in their arms, they cried and felt that one unbreakable bond in an instant. And even more stories of their children's first words at 10 months old or younger. Words as significant as "Mama". When I gave birth to Garret, all the testimonies and stories I heard remained just that-- narratives to me. Of course there is no question, I love him with the whole weight of the universe but somehow I couldn't connect to him the way I expected to. I don't know if Autism caused this "disconnection" that I so deeply felt but wanted badly to deny, maybe it did. And when the months went by until he turned 3 years old, when still no "mama" or "papa" was heard from his lips, questions began to pile up in my head and in my heart waiting to be hurled to the universe of which no answers were heard as well.

From the time Garret was then diagnosed at three years old hence, and a slew of therapies and special education commenced, life began unfolding in ways I could not even predict or sometimes even understand. What was clear in the years that have gone by was the one undeniable truth of how my little prince was teaching me the ropes of life. And not the other way around. Acceptance. Gratitude. Courage. Strength. Resilience, And Love above all. Among the questions that piled up was the one that bore the heaviest load, "Why Autism? Why my sons?" I only have to look at my Garret and my Morgan and see the joy in their faces at the simplest things and see the courage in the full breadth of their souls to face everyday hurdles in living in this normal world of ours and I find the answers I am searching for.

To be honest, my faith has seen countless days of wavering strength. Frustration came in all forms. Anger directed at the universe of the "unfairness" of it all. More questions--"Why couldn't my son still not talk? Will I have the strength to carry on?" How did I get through days like this? I just let go. I asked the hard questions and allowed myself to weep and be angry. And then when everything that was toxic and dark and not good went out of my system, I gathered whatever strength there was left and pooled the support and love of friends and family and used it to support my weight long enough to stand on my own two feet again. "Mama said there'd be days like this. "

And days of bliss...

Just when I was about to give up, the tide turned. Our One Day came. Let me tell you the details of what transpired the day my world spun:

I was blow-drying my hair, getting ready for school a.k.a. work a.k.a. teacher-momma mode. And in the mirror, I saw Garret approach me, wanting me to be done with whatever I was doing because he wanted to go already. I turned off the blow dryer and looked at the mirror, I cupped his face and said, "Look, Mama and Garret." I pointed to our faces in the mirror. He then said, nonchalantly, "Ma-ma". I was dumbfounded so I brought him outside and told his father, "He said, Mama." His father said, "Maybe it was ma-na (finish in our vernacular), as in he wanted you to finish blow drying your hair." I told Garret this time, "Garret say, Mama." To which he said, "ma-ma". I requested that he say it again. And he said "Mama" Twice. And that was when my world transformed into a roller coaster of joy and tears.

8 years. A slew of therapists and therapies. One word. "Mama." Miracles happen. Breakthroughs are possible. The Universe certainly knows what it's doing.

As I am typing this now, Garret approaches me with his pack of biscuit. He says, "A-ma Bea, O-wan." I open his biscuit and hands it to him, I cue him, "Tha--" He continues, "Chan-chyu."

Mama Bea. Open. Thank you. Five words. And more coming.

It has taken me a long time to write about this fateful day. Because I wanted to give it justice by writing it when all my senses are attuned to celebrate and laud my little prince. Because as much as this is about him saying the word that fills my heart with the greatest joy and content, this is about him breaking through one seemingly unbreakable wall of autism. One being this wall of apraxia that afflicts most kids on the spectrum. This is about my little prince Garret's courage and strength. This is about him experiencing the world as never before, being able to communicate, to explicitly express himself. One day, it won't be his mama anymore telling his and his brother's story. One day he will tell you himself. One day, Morgan too will tell his story. And I believe this with all my heart.

And this day wouldn't be possible at all without the love and dedication of his therapists, teachers and doctors and the unfaltering support of family and friends. I thank all of you. You know who you are. I will be forever grateful for your kindness and love you give to my boys and my entire family.

In the meantime, we continue to do what we always do. What my boys have taught me to do, live each day as if it were the first and last day of life, give it my all, do whatever it is that lights my fire, appreciate every single blessing, see everything as miracles and know that no matter what happens, hope is not lost.

And on this note...

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all...

-Emily Dickinson-

Lastly, as if I would forget the one who is looking down on everything perhaps in utter amusement at my lack of faith and human questioning, maybe even saying, " I told you so.", thank you, Universe.

Questions, Courage, Truth

Our lives with autism.
When will this be not an uphill battle?
What's the point?
Why does it feel like I'm left behind?
Why does it seem that my boys are left behind while the rest of the world moves on?
Is there no getting out of this?
What is the purpose of all this?
Why my boys?
What does the future hold for us?
But most importantly, for them, when we are gone?
Why other people and not us?
Why other kids and not my boys?
Where and when is our salvation?

This barrage of questions invading my peace. But somehow I am compelled to ask the most difficult questions because the answers compel courage to come forth. And it's almost easy to fall into the trap of self-pity and to an extent, despair. Almost. Until just moments ago, Garret approached me out of the blue, gazed at me with eyes holding the most indescribable, incomprehensible tenderness and Morgan, cheeks all rosy pink from jumping on the mattress grinning, all teeth and gums showing, grinning at his momma--- there's my answer, this right here, my truth. And it is just so much easier to fall back into a state of grace, gratitude and peace. :) And yes I am truly glad I was not afraid to ask the questions.

The Song of the Skies

My baby sings with all his might
singing with the sun, the moon, the stars
with all the sounds of the earth
under the majestic, heavenly skies
No matter there are no words
deciphered, only hums and drums
but still he sings
with all the wonder in his eyes
Our child explores
for the first time,
it seems
Our face, our voice, our love
in the most concrete of ways
Our words of " I love you's"
no longer disappear into the
universe's dust,
he hears us,
he bids us,
"Come mama, come papa"
Come into my world,
This is why he sings
This is why we sing
the symphony of the heavens,
the song of the magnificent
magnificent skies...
Thank you great sun, thank you!

Acceptance: Love, Let Go, Have Faith.

Many friends have often told me how they commend me for my attitude and acceptance towards my son's autism. And every time this happens, I respond to them how acceptance is an everyday process for me. It didn't happen overnight. It certainly didn't happen in a blink of an eye or a surge of will. It is an everyday habit, a consistent practice of will, an opening of the heart and mind, a certain fortitude, a decision to let go and let the universe do its work.

This afternoon, I was confronted with something that for the first time, I was speechless, stopped in my tracks and could only reply, "I know and I understand how you must feel." It was a declaration of the reality of autism, its mystery, its incomprehensibility. It was a raw admission of human emotion, human frailty. And it made me ask the question myself, "How do you accept autism and all its reality into your family? How?"

All the research, resources and references read cover to cover could not satisfy the question of why. I am not even talking about the causes of autism. Because the literature is already out there-- genetic vulnerability coupled with environmental elements. I am talking about the real question parents ask the universe, "Why us? Why my child?". Before we even get to the "how" part-- how to deal with it, how to manage our child's behavior, how we'll get through the financial burden of therapy, schooling, doctor's tests and check-ups, we have to confront the universe, and ourselves, with the question, "Why???". And most often than not, we come up with no answers.

Sooner or later, we find out that we have exhausted our mental capacities, our heart and soul from endlessly questioning that our head literally hurts like hell and all our senses dead tired. We find out that there are no understandable answers, no logical reasoning--it simply does not make sense at all. And the insensibility of it all breaks us down, knocks down the walls of our defenses until we are on our knees. What do we do then when we fall down on our knees? We raise our hands as a gesture of surrender to the heavens. This is when the answers come.

I have often relayed to parents, mothers and fathers alike the story of Garret's diagnosis, how we reacted, how I particularly reacted, how my partner responded, how we didn't know what the first step to do was, which professional to approach first, how we had to travel to another island to see qualified doctors, how Garret screamed with all his might during his first plane ride, and most importantly that point where the doctor finally gave the diagnosis. After the diagnosis, I narrated to them how we did what we did-- do all the intervention needed for him, contacting a therapist from another island to travel every week for 1 whole year and how we dutifully followed through with the intervention. Along the lines of narrating to them our story, one question remains unanswered, "What made you accept the truth?" I have no concrete answers for them. It is not a yes or no kind of question after all. "Was there something you did to make the truth easier to swallow?" All I could answer to these questions was, "When the doctors told us, we knew this was it. We had to help our son. We knew right then and there we were going to do everything for him." And it's true, after finding the most reasonable way to have Garret's therapy, the rest was history. So when a parent declared to me this raw admission of truth--" It is so damn hard to accept why my son has autism" statement, it was as if someone just punched me in the face and forced me to recall how truly have I come to accept autism in our lives.

I do have one concrete answer though. Although this does not answer directly the question "why or how?" Here it is: All I know is that in order for any intervention-- therapy, schooling, diagnosis, or whatever intervention there is, to be in working condition, to be effective, in order to see progress and improvement in our children, there has to be some form of acceptance on the part of the parents, even from just one parent to start with. In the end, all the best therapies, therapists and teachers in the world could not even help our children when we ourselves cannot help them. And truly helping our children is rooted down to the very core of our unconditional love for them. To truly help our children is to love them for who they are, what they have. To truly love them is to accept them no matter what.

So on this note I would like to try to answer the question, "How do / did you accept autism into your life?"

I began by looking into my own heart the very source of love for my son. I dug deep, scooped all the raw contents of this fierce emotion that overturns any kind of disorder, this thing called love. I then poured it forth onto my son. I let go of any form of construct, standards, rules and expectations that society and myself had imposed on how my son should be, on how he should live his life. I looked for this deep place of love in my heart and let go. Human as I am, I of course still went through the process of bombarding myself with unanswerable questions. Until I finally raised my arms in surrender. As I let go and let the universe do its work, I prayed to my God. I held steadfast to my faith. All these I practiced everyday, every single day for the past 4 years and I will certainly keep doing this for as long as my son needs me. As to answering the question, "why us, why my son?", the answers unfolded as soon as I began the process of acceptance. As to the answers, there are many, of which I will soon be writing about. For now, what I can answer is how.

I do not claim to be brave. Though what I do, I realize, and as studies have proven how stress levels of autism parents are comparable to those soldiers in combat, what all parents of children of autism do, takes courage and fortitude enough to mobilize an entire cavalry of soldiers, a whole battalion of military men. By no means am I perfect, or have the autism alphabet down to the letter. But I do my best. Even if I fail in some other important areas in my son's life, I make sure that I don't fail in the most important thing of all, everyday, -- accepting my son for who and what he is, a beautiful, beautiful creation of the Universe.


I end this post with this quote:

If we could answer all the "whys" we would not need faith. -Vance Havner-

With a Skip in My Heart

Morgan just discovered a new, more fun way of getting from point A to point B-- skipping! This was a week ago. We were having our home program at the guest room. When he saw our new spring bed installed, he skipped! With his chinese-y eyes already disappearing and all of his teeth showing in delight, he climbed on the bed and began to skip and jump. His smile was so contagious and he had so much fun I had to join him too.

Our feisty king is a character all on his own. So different from Garret. He seems to have a plan all mapped out in his head that nothing or no one could ever try to stop him if he decides to do things or not to do things. Every time he is asked to do something, whether it is in sped class, therapy or normal everyday things at home, he seems to have this perpetual skeptical look that seems to ask, "What's in it for me?" Of course, his teachers and therapist does not let him get his own way. Work needs to be done and he needs to learn. He certainly is one feisty king. Morgan started his Sped Class last December. And it is only for the past two weeks that he has finally learned to sit down and comply to the tasks given to him without the tantrums, whining, crying and all. What an amazing relief and achievement, my feisty king has reached. The only problem is, once he has set his mind to do the things in sped class or practice for their performance for the program tomorrow, he does not like to rest. He just wants to go on and on even it is scheduled time to rest. Morgan has come so far. And I am so proud of him. My heart is skipping every single day that he goes to class behaved and compliant but most of all happy learning things.

By this time, those of you who have read my previous notes must know already what a sentimental mother I am, maybe o-a to an extent, making the little achievements of my kids exponentially amazing. Well, one of the lessons, I've learned as a mother-- nothing is ever small, mundane and ordinary when it comes to my kids. Ever heard of the term, "Love my own"? Well, I am one very good example. I am fiercely proud of what little progress my kids make. Be it learning how to skip, or blow bubbles, or learning how to sit down and comply to tasks without a hint of crying, whining or complaining-- I celebrate it all. I celebrate my children every single day.

Yesterday, a fellow parent expressed her concern how she wished her child would also learn how to behave like our kids as her own child was still newly enrolled in our sped program. Really apprehensive whether her child could ever learn to sit down and wait quietly, I could see the desperation in her eyes. I responded to her, "We will get there, Ma'am. You will get there. Your child will get there soon. Patience is all we need to have and of course consistency in discipline at home and in school." I added, " We have special children so it goes without saying that the challenges we have in parenting our children are special as well. Our parenting skills are greatly challenged and put to the test. The most important thing you need to know is that you can do this. Your child can do this." She seemed appeased for a little while. But like I said, like all mothers, I know she will always worry. When we love someone more than life itself, there is no question why we worry the way we do. Eventually, though, I know her worries will be dissolved little by little, one day at a time as she sees progress one step at a time. And she will learn to celebrate all the little things. And she will learn that when it comes to her child, there are no small things, only great possibilities. And her heart too will be skipping with joy and no longer with doubt and fear.

Today after our practice at the Superdome for our performance tomorrow together with the Toddlers and Playgroup Class, we brought our boys back to the center for a little session with Teacher-Mama, yours truly. Morgan was still so hyped-up that I made him do obstacle courses; slide, jump on the trampoline, tunnel crawling and end task shape sorting. He complied readily smiling his toothy grin. Garret on the other hand did some table top shape sorting activity as well. Who would ever think, in a million years that I could handle my two boys with two separate activities one after the other in one session? We have certainly come so far. Another cause for celebration. Oh and when it was time to sort the heart shape object, Garret uttered the word---"heart". And oh, how my heart skipped!!!

My boys, together with the other 11 kids at the Sped Center will be performing a prayer song entitled, " If I were a Butterfly" to open the Toddlers and Playgroup program tomorrow morning. And it will be held at the biggest venue in our city. Garret is the fish and Morgan is the worm. And they'll each be thanking God tomorrow that they can giggle with glee and be squirming like they should be....Here are the lyrics, so you'll know what I'm talking about:


If I were a butterfly,
I'd thank you, Lord, for giving me wings;
And if I were a robin in a tree,
I'd thank you Lord, that I could sing;
And if I were a fish in the sea,
I'd wiggle my tail and I'd giggle with glee;
But I just Thank You Father, for making me - ME!
'Cause you gave me a heart and
You gave me a smile
You gave me Jesus, and
You made me His Child
And I just Thank You, Father
For making me - ME!
If I were an elephant,
I'd thank you, Lord, by raising my trunk;
And if I were a kangaroo,
I'd hop, hop, hop, right up to you;
And if I were an octopus,
I'd thank you, Lord, for my good looks;
But I just Thank You, Father, for making me - ME!
If I were a wiggly worm,
I'd thank you, Lord, that I could squirm;
And if I were a crocodile,
I'd thank you, Lord, for my big smile;
And if I were a fuzzy-wuzzy bear,
I'd thank you, Lord, for my fuzzy-wuzzy hair;
But I just Thank You, Father, for making me - ME!

After all is said and done, after all the processing and denial, acceptance and intervention, we will all realize that we are made the way we are for a beautiful purpose. And to be simply alive is reason enough to be thankful and to celebrate. I think this may be the greatest lesson my kids have taught me, what Autism has taught me.

Today, tomorrow and everyday, I thank and celebrate the Giver of Life for my boys, for my partner, for the life I have been given...with a smile on my face, not unlike the charming kind my little prince gives and just like how my feisty king expresses his joy, skipping--with a skip in my heart!

The Most Beautiful Music

It was lunchtime for my two boys. "Garret, come.", I called to him. He is happily engrossed playing with his bottle of body oil and he does not come to me. I call out to him again this time changing the intonation and pronunciation, "Gar-reet, come". He looks my way and comes to me. I am amused and told him, "Do you like the sound of "Gar-reet" better, kuya?" I get no response of course as he returns to his bottle of oil happily stimming.

"Does he come when called? Does he respond when you call out his name?" These are two of the the first questions a developmental pediatrician or therapist asks when parents have their child evaluated. At this point, the parent senses that sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach and realizes for the first time that come to think of it, her child does not come when called and when is called by his name, does not respond. Automatically she answers, " Well, when he is so focused on his toys or cartoons..." The parent does not bother to finish her sentence because she knows better. Deep down in her gut, she knows that something is wrong, was wrong the first few times she calls out the name of her child and he does not respond. And it is not because he can't hear. The doctors' questions only prove her gut instinct right. There is no going back now. And it is finally time to face the truth.

I know this all too well. From personal experience and from the parents I encounter at the center. I wish I could fully comfort the mothers who come knowing I've been through what they are going through. I wish I could assure them that when the questions come it is where the hardest part is but just like everything else in life, once the hardest part is over-- facing the problem, confronting the truth, then freedom begins, and the load will be not easier but at least less heavier to carry.I hope it gets through them. I hope they are consoled and comforted somewhat. I tell them, the progress of your children won't come overnight. It happens one day at a time. Just as acceptance does. Everything is a process. It requires so much courage to face the truth. And it requires even more audacity to embrace it.

Name calling. Remember how ecstatic you were when your baby first recognized his or her name? You realize, " My child knows his own name. He knows he is Juan, or Pedro. What a beautiful thing!"

By now, you must know that for us autism parents, it's a whole different story. Our kids need to be guided, physically guided and taught to recognize their names. The Sped teachers and therapists at the beginning of the class or therapy sing, "Where is Garret? Where is Morgan?, there you are, there you are...", complete with the hand gesture tapping my child's chest...Eventually the teachers no longer sing but call out simply, where is Garret? Where is Morgan?. And eventually, they tap their chests by themselves signifying that they are present.

I don't remember exactly when Garret started to consistently respond when his name was called, but I remember vividly the first time he clearly acknowledged when I called him. I think it was in the middle of his first year of therapy. I arrived from work and he was sitting on the sofa of our family room watching his favorite cartoons. I entered the house through the kitchen and when I saw a glimpse of him in the family room, I called out, "Hi Garret!". He turned to look at me and didn't break his gaze for several seconds. It was heavenly. At that point, it was my turn to be ecstatic. " Garret finally knows his name! "

The reason why name calling is one of the many first things that is given focus in therapy or in sped class is because when a child is able to turn when called, it means he is ready for the next step, which is focusing on a given task. Of course tasks start simple, simple instructions--"Garret close the door, Garret, pick up the ball." which will then move on to much more complex tasks which the environment, the world inevitably offers and constantly bombards everyday.

No one will ever really know what goes on in the world of autism. The sensory overload that most likely causes them not to respond to their name being called is one of them. Why their brains are wired differently is a mystery. The world outside their safe cocoons is just too much for them to handle. But the hard truth is that the world does not adapt to their eccentricities and needs, it is the other way around. This is where the challenge rises. This is why we have to teach our children the very basic, practical things in life in order for them to survive, starting with responding appropriately when their name is called. To respond to one's own name is elemental to survival. This much we have learned not to take for granted.

Ever since Garret was diagnosed and we went through the whole process of confronting the reality and finally acting on an intervention for him, every single day has been a day of celebration for us. The little achievements our little Prince makes are everything to us. The day he turned to me when I called his name was the beginning of a greater appreciation of the simpler more basic things in life.

It has been said that the most beautiful music to one's ears is the sound of his name.

Garret's name comes from Germanic origins which mean "strength of a spear" or "strong and brave". I don't know if he will ever understand the meaning of his name but clearly, he exudes strength and courage. My little prince is strong and brave every single day as he strives to live in a world that has the least understanding for his own world, as he strives to learn in his own way, as he seeks for his joy in the smallest things despite the chaos his brain creates. Garret may not be able to say to me, "Mama I feel so good when you call my name." But when I call out his name, it is definitely the most beautiful music to my ears. Because I am reminded how strong and brave he is. More importantly, it encourages me how strong and brave I need to be as his mother every single day. What music could be more beautiful than the sound of my child's name resounding strength and courage? And what experience could be more beautiful than my little Prince responding to his beautiful, beautiful name?

My little Prince Garret, how strong and brave and beautiful you are! Today and everyday, I celebrate your strength, courage and beauty. Once again, thank you Autism for bringing out Garret's strength,courage and beauty. Thank you for teaching me how to see it with the clearest heart. And thank you for bringing out the best of me as a mother.

For all the other mothers and fathers out there just starting the process of facing all of Autism, just hang in there. Don't give up. Hang on to hope. Believe. Miracles happen. Miracles are right before your eyes, your children are your miracles. Soon, they will hear the most beautiful music to their ears. And soon you will hear the beautiful music that Autism teaches too.

No Stone Unturned

I arrived late at the Sped Center for the Senior Students' Career Talk on Special Education. As per my instruction, Teacher Loiz and Teacher Prinzer had already started their speech to the students and all were rapt with attention. Weeks before, they also got to listen to a Speech and Language Pathologist talk about Speech Therapy as a career, and a Special Education Student who was also a graduate of St. Paul's School.

Apart from this being a part of the Guidance program of the school, I ultimately had a hidden agenda why I had to give them a first-hand experience or at least a concise glimpse of the world of Special Needs. Understandably, I wanted just even one or two of these students to consider taking up Occupational Therapy or Special Education because my children need them. Many parents need therapists and special ed teachers for their kids. For how long? Well for some, a few years, for others, quite a long time. The unfortunate reality especially in our country, is that these graduates eventually prefer to work abroad because of the better pay and working conditions. I do not blame them for their choices. They too are trying to make a living and a comfortable life for themselves and their families. Well, so am I. I am striving to make my boys' life as comfortable and as secure as possible. And if I have to use my influence to convince these 16-year olds who are already deciding the career path for themselves, deciding their future professions, then I will. I intend to leave no stone unturned. Even if they choose to work outside Ormoc or even outside the country, then I will still have done my part in helping our world of special needs.

Teacher Loiz and Teacher Prinzer shared to the students on the importance of acceptance and a non-judgmental attitude towards special kids and adults. And the stigma attached to being a special child. Discrimination, bullying and disrespect were also three of the many issues the sped teachers emphasized. They also briefly discussed ten things they ought to know about Autism. And later they summed up the calling and commitment that a Special Educator needs to have to be truly a great teacher. The students had several questions. One of which was, "Will these special children ever be able to go to a regular school?" This was fairly easy to answer so I explained to them the spectrum of the Autism Disorder how some high functioning kids do get to be enrolled in the mainstream, but that the school should also be prepared to welcome these kids into their regular classrooms. I also explained to them how the kids on the other end or in the blurry areas of the spectrum will perhaps never be able to go to a regular normal school. And our goals for the children in this group is mainly for them to be independent, so they can bathe themselves, dress themselves, feed themselves, cross the street by themselves, and in the future make a simple living perhaps. The seniors nodded in understanding. Did I answer their question? I certainly hope my answer satisfied their query that goes beyond nodding. I badly wanted them to understand the gravity and importance of Special Education.

Another question came up. The Computer Teacher who accompanied them, Sir Edgar asked, "Do they know that they are special? Are they aware, Ma'am, that they have this particular kind of disability?" It took me awhile to consider it. Because this was the first time that I was actually confronted with this kind of question. I collected my thoughts and this was how I responded, " Do they really need to know that they are different from others? And if so, would it matter to them? From the moment they were born, what they know of is the world that they are currently living in. And what would it do to them if they were told that you have this kind of disability so on and so forth? Maybe with the proper guidance and help from people, they are able to blend into the norms of social conduct perhaps after being aware. Perhaps it will help them learn to say "sorry" after being unintentionally rude as in some cases for children or adults with Aspergers Syndrome. Well, it is the parent's decision to tell their children. But seriously, we all know it doesn't really matter if they know they are different. We all are anyway. Maybe our children's differences are just more marked than the normal ones"

But, really, I believe that all they need to know in this life is that they are loved, that there will be difficult times, but they can get through it. They may be different, but it doesn't change the fact that they are truly, truly loved for who and what they are. I further explained to them, "Coming from a personal place, you all need to understand how Garret is more than his Autism. He is not just autistic. He is many other beautiful, wonderful, quirky amazing things. And you need to have eyes to see beyond the faces of these special kids. They are more than their weirdness or quirkiness or disabilities. So it just does NOT matter if he knows he has autism or not. It just doesn't.

I hope I got through to them. "Did I answer your question, Sir Edgar?" I wanted to be validated. I wanted to give them the right answers because this was a very important concern for me. If I did answer his question then perhaps I can feel I have made that step in furthering the awareness and creating a sense of social responsibility of these teenagers who will soon be adults in the real world of normality. I heaved a sigh of relief when Sir Edgar responded, "Yes Ma'am.".

Finally it was time to end the Career Talk. I didn't plan on giving any closing speech or anything, but I did. And words were not only the one given away.

"The main reason that I wanted you guys to really have a glimpse into the world of special needs, our world, Garret's world is because we need you. I need you. We need individuals who will be future special educators or therapists who will make a significant impact on the lives of our children, teach them the simplest things on how to survive and perhaps learn the very simple ABC's or 123's. And if you won't be teachers or therapists because it's not in your heart, it's okay. But if you can look at a special child now and see him with new eyes and are able to accept him and see him as a miracle, then that's all we need. That's all we really need. The other reason that I started your career program with the special needs profession is because I need to tell you how lucky and how fortunate you are. You have skills and abilities that will get you through your academic life, let you march down the aisle with your diplomas. You have the power to create your future, plan out your path, achieve your dreams. Kaya ninyo ni tanan. (You can do it.) You can be whatever you want to be. In our case, the dreams I have for my Garret will remain as dreams. I wanted him to be a theater performer or a writer. But apparently, God has a different plan, different set of dreams for him. I won't be able to see him hold a diploma. And I've come to accept the fact that we will grow old together. You, on the other hand have the ability to plan out your entire life and make all your dreams come true. You can make it happen. So make it happen. But most importantly, and perhaps the most important thing of all, you can express how you feel through words. You can say "I love you.", "I'm sorry." "Thank you." You can say it because you are given the ability to speak. So please speak. When you go home to your parents, please tell them how much you love them. Tell them how much they mean to you. I don't know if Garret will be ever able to say "I love you" to me and his papa. But of course he says it in so many non verbal ways.

And look at the person sitting beside you right now, your friends. They say the best years in life are in high school because it is usually where friendships for life are formed and carved in stone. I don't know if Garret will ever be able to have a best friend like you do. But you have them right now. So appreciate them. Every single day. Tell the people you love that you love them because you simply can tell them. See how blessed you are. There are no limits to what you can become. You can be whoever and whatever you want to be."

As I spoke these words, of course, it didn't come out as eloquently as you may have imagined. I may have a gift of the written word but not so much with the actual talking more so with the emotional lump in my throat all the while I was ending the talk. Again, I hope I got through to them, if not many but at least some. The senior boys were actually silent and some of the girls were starting to well up with tears. But I think the most important validation of all for me, for the sped teachers and for the special needs community is when even just one person's perception is changed when he looks at a special child with love, understanding and acceptance. When even just one person has come to better appreciate the life that he is given simply because he realizes that he is blessed with many blessings that other people do not have. When a person is able to live a very thankful life, this is our greatest validation.

When one becomes a mother, or a parent for that matter (not leaving you out, fathers, of course) your whole life changes. Your perspectives change. Your priorities change. Your choices change. But the most important change of all, I think is when you realize with all your mind, heart and soul , LAWAS ug KATARONGAN, that you will leave NO STONE UNTURNED for your children. There cannot be any room for mediocre effort. There is no such thing as half-baked love, no such thing as weak striving. You are then able to experience and learn what UNCONDITIONAL LOVE truly is. You realize how your heart was broken by some old boyfriend or girlfriend in the past and that it was just a prick of a needle compared to how you feel when you just imagine your own child being hurt by the cruelties and realities of life. And you find yourself every single day purposefully LEAVING NO STONE UNTURNED for your children.

There are numerous battles I am facing right now, just like any other human being who has decided to enter into this amazing world of parenthood. And I think the light at the end of the tunnel is still far away. But a friend just reminded me how I am a warrior and how I have so many things to teach people. How I am enough as a person. How I must not accept defeat and pain. I am strengthened once again to carry on. Garret and Morgan need me to be at my best every single day and I cannot leave any stone unturned, even if it just means convincing a few students to be a special educator or a therapist. But I think, the greatest act of "warrior-hood" I can give my two boys is simply to be thankful for what I have, to be strong and not be overpowered by the battles I am facing and to carry on and not give up and have faith that the Universe has a plan greater beyond all imaginings and to trust in that plan.