A few months ago my husband approached me and uttered six words that gave me instant chills: “Let’s get rid of our cable.” As someone who loves her tv I was mortified at the thought. I may have inserted some choice four-letter expletives as a response to his insane suggestion. That’s when he broke down…
Sometimes He’ll Need a Hug. And Sometimes He’ll Need a Hammer.
It was the first time since her death that defiance flashed across his face he was tired. tired of goodbyes. tired of the tears. tired of having to reach for tissues every time a bittersweet memory invaded his little heart. He was tired of all the grown-ups trying to explain something they didn’t…
Brave. Valiant. Strong.
My grandmother. She’s very sick. The prognosis, it’s not good. Back in 2008, on New Year’s Day, I was the one who found her on the floor of the bathroom, a massive stroke claiming her body as she lay there helpless and scared. As I held her in my arms and heard the distant wail…
The Letter.
There’s a letter out there written by a mom of “NORMAL” children to a mom raising a “retard” and it’s spreading like wildfire Breaking hearts in its wake leaving a bitter aftertaste mouths wide-open while defeated heads shake this letter is every autism parent’s worst nightmare A neatly typed assertion: someone’s baby isn’t…
Thirty Seconds
The irony is not lost on me. Yesterday, while reading an AP article I was interviewed for about wandering and elopement among the autism community, I turned to my husband and asked that dreaded question: “Where’s Andrew?” We had been mere inches from him all morning, contained together in the close quarters of our living…
Undiagnosed: Still Searching for Answers
In August of 2010, we got the call from our pediatrician: “Andrew tested positive for cystic fibrosis,” she told me gently, and I imagined her kind eyes filling with concern as she heard silence on the other end. That call began a roller coaster of emotions for our family and set off a chain of…
Thirty-six
I didn’t wake up with some grand epiphany darting through my head hoping to reach my lips before it was forgotten. I didn’t wake up feeling particularly sad or glad or worried, wondering if I “really look my age,” or if I could get away with that big 3-0 I dreaded not that long…