“Are there any specific challenges your child faces that I should know about?”
Two small blank lines stared back at me, barely enough space for a few sentences. Yes, my son, Lucas, is on the autism spectrum and encounters various learning hurdles at school, but there was already an IEP file detailing all that. I didn’t have room here to go over it again.
“Are there any specific challenges your child faces that I should know about?”
Those two lines loomed, waiting for my response. My cheeks flushed as I felt the fog in my mind deepen, making it increasingly difficult to translate my thoughts into coherent words on that cheerful yellow sheet. The tingling in my hands made gripping the pen a challenge, and the words on the page began to blur the longer I focused on them.
“Are there any specific challenges your child faces that I should know about?”
With a shaky hand, I wrote, “Yes, I have Lyme disease.” The pen slipped from my fingers as I stared at those two words: Lyme disease. How could I possibly convey the profound impact of having a parent with a disability on my child’s school year? Guilt washed over me as tears began to dot the page. How could I explain to his new teacher the extent of what Lucas has to navigate because his mom isn’t like the other parents?
When other kids wake gently to their parents each morning, Lucas sets an alarm to ensure he’s up for school, just in case I’m not fully awake. While other children enjoy a warm breakfast prepared by their parents, Lucas often gets his own bowl from the cabinet, pouring cereal to save my limited energy for essential tasks. When other parents walk their kids to the bus stop and are there to greet them after school, Lucas walks to the corner alone each morning and returns by himself in the afternoon, as I struggle to manage the steep hill we live on with my cane on tougher days.
Other parents assist with homework, but my son has a mom who sometimes struggles with tasks like spelling and math due to her neurological symptoms. While other parents eagerly volunteer for school events and PTA roles, Lucas has a mom who, despite her best efforts, may show up to meetings looking less than polished or may even miss them entirely.
“I have Lyme disease.” Those words became a blur as tears filled my eyes, or maybe it was the misfiring nerves in my brain that clouded my vision. The guilt felt unbearable. That would have to suffice for now. I forced myself to read the last question on that sunny page so I could finish and retreat to the comfort of my bed.
“What are your child’s greatest strengths?”
The answer came to me instantly: Empathy. It’s remarkable for a child on the autism spectrum to possess such a profound ability to empathize, but in Lucas’s case, it’s true. Teachers, friends, and Sunday school leaders consistently highlight this quality. Watching me struggle with pain and illness has gifted Lucas an extraordinary capacity to care deeply for others. Although he sometimes finds it challenging to identify feelings or needs, once he does, he’s determined to help in any way he can. He often brings me a blanket when I’m in pain, seeks cuddles on rough days, or puts on his little brother’s favorite show when I need a nap.
Lucas is also impressively independent and takes responsibility for himself. I’ve come to appreciate how learning to fend for himself has provided him with skills he might have otherwise struggled to develop. He wakes himself up, dresses himself, sticks to his morning routine, and manages his own time. All the guilt I feel for not being able to consistently do these things for him fades when I realize how many valuable life skills he’s mastering at such a young age — skills that many adults today seem to lack.
Lucas is fiercely determined, a trait that didn’t come easily to him. In the past, he often felt overwhelmed and was quick to give up. But having a mom who can’t always come to his rescue, no matter how much I wish I could, has shaped him in profound ways. It’s pushed him to learn to resolve his own challenges and ignited a determination to persevere until he succeeds.
Once again, the pen slipped from my grasp. I tucked the form into his folder, zipped up his backpack, and hung it back by the door.
“I have Lyme disease.” It’s been one of my child’s greatest challenges, but it has also been a catalyst for many of his strengths. There will be countless times this year when I’ll grapple with guilt over the ways I fall short of the ideal mom I aspire to be; so many moments I’ll wish I could do more, be more.
However, I hold onto the hope that Lucas will continue to thrive amid these added challenges — that he will discover the best in himself when I’m not at my best, that he will grow in character and resilience in every area where I falter, and that someday, as he reflects on his life, he will remember how deeply his mom loved him and view her disability as more of a catalyst than an obstacle.