I saw you.
You were holding your son’s hand—he looked around 11 or 12, which immediately caught my attention. At that age, most boys wouldn’t be inclined to hold their mom’s hand in public.
I observed you scanning the hotel pool, carefully assessing for any possible triggers. You were searching for the ideal spot for your family, one that was closest to both the exit and the water.
I watched as you gently encouraged your son to get into the water, or as close as he felt comfortable at first. I noticed his hands were over his ears, and he managed to sit on the edge with his feet in the pool. His eyes were tightly squinted, but as time went on, he started to relax. Though his hands remained over his head, he occasionally flapped them, a sign of his easing tension.
I saw you and your family—your husband and daughter—get into the pool, forming a protective sensory barrier around him. Everyone was smiling, but I noticed you, Mom, still vigilant, keeping an eye on everything happening nearby.
I sent you a big smile. I recognize my own kind, and I wanted to swim over and share a fist-bump or a high-five. Yet, I had my own child to watch over, and I’ve never quite mastered the art of striking up a conversation with another family on the autism spectrum. “Flap here often?” just doesn’t have the right ring to it. I hoped you saw my smile as genuine—just a recognition of shared experience, not pity.
The following morning at breakfast, I spotted you again. You were “opening the joint,” just like we do. I smiled and wished you all a good morning. I overheard your son anxiously ask, “What time is it?” to which your husband responded tiredly, “It’s vacation. Time doesn’t matter.” I caught your sigh; you understood how time mattered, but you also knew your husband was just trying to maintain harmony.
I hope your vacation was enjoyable. While it might not have been a typical getaway, I trust it was wonderful for your family. I wish I could’ve expressed how nice it was to see someone like you. Just your presence made me feel less isolated among all the so-called “typical” families. I wish we had encountered each other more often. Perhaps we could’ve laughed at an inside joke that only we would understand. Maybe you’ll see this and realize you weren’t alone at that resort in navigating life with autism. I hope we find more of our kind wherever we go—to share support, advice, or simply a knowing smile from one stranger to another at the pool.
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Summary
This heartfelt message is directed to a mother of an autistic boy encountered at a pool. It reflects on shared experiences, understanding, and the silent bond formed between families navigating similar journeys. The writer expresses a desire for connection and recognition, emphasizing the importance of community and support among those with autism in their lives.