Have you ever experienced a moment that completely shifts your perspective? Recently, I attended a wake for a young child, and it profoundly impacted how I perceive autism. The memory of that little girl and her family lingers with me daily, reminding me of the value of life and acceptance.
I’ve come to realize that I don’t truly understand grief—not in the way I once thought. Sure, I’ve previously written about the grieving process that often accompanies the diagnosis of autism. Many articles echo the sentiment of mourning the child you envisioned, feeling as though autism has robbed you of that dream. But reflecting on my own situation, I see it differently. My child is here, full of life and personality. He’s making a joyful mess, playing with his toys, and singing “Bird Is the Word” for the umpteenth time today.
Yes, he requires reminders to chew his food, to treat our dogs gently, and he’s often frightened by the mere sight of the kitchen blender. But he’s alive and thriving. I can share laughter with him, exchange high-fives as we pass in the hallway, and sneak into his room at night to kiss him goodnight after an emotionally taxing day.
Life may not have unfolded as I had imagined, but whose does? The lives we often envy from afar are not without their own struggles, both expected and unexpected. Sometimes, I feel self-pity, frustration, or even disappointment—but I recognize these feelings are not grief. I’ve made a conscious decision to stop labeling my experience with my child’s autism as a grieving process; instead, it’s one of acceptance.
To compare my journey with that of losing a child is unfair, and I refuse to do so any longer. My child is still with me, and while parenting him demands more effort than I might have wanted, I am grateful for every moment. There are parents out there who are grappling with the unimaginable loss of their children; they are the ones who truly have the right to grieve.
I’m not here to dictate anyone else’s feelings or experiences. If your child is still with you, you possess a wealth that many others do not. It’s completely valid to feel sadness, anger, or frustration about your circumstances. I would never suggest otherwise. Recently, I hugged a mother preparing for a lifetime of medical challenges for her daughter, only to find myself embracing her at her child’s wake. That moment cemented my understanding.
This isn’t about right or wrong; it’s about acknowledging my own missteps and committing to a new mindset. And if you want to learn more about the journey of parenthood, I encourage you to check out this other blog post for more insights.
In summary, embracing the reality of my autistic child has helped me appreciate the richness of life that still exists. While challenges come with the territory, they do not overshadow the joy and love that fill our days.