So many different responsibilities come with raising an autistic child. Never mind the standard responsibilities that every parent has with any child. Added to that are the special requirements for parenting this amazing, special, and unique blessing. Unfortunately, there isn't a guide or manual that comes with these kiddos. They come into this world completely dependent upon us, just like every other child we have. Somewhere along the way, we realize that they are different. Something just isn't quite right.
At first, you rationalize that every child is different. I know for me, after already having 4 kids, when my son Zack wasn't hitting all his milestones (some he did), I just told myself "He will, in his own time." I had learned that all kids progress and develop at a different pace. Having twins definitely helped me see that. So with Zack, I simply assumed he was just asserting his uniqueness.
Eventually, you KNOW something is different. Then you start asking family, friends, people you trust. I heard plenty of reassurances. Many the same ones I had been telling myself. One of the glaring aspects of my suspicions was that my baby didn't talk. He was almost 2 years old and he still didn't say his first word. Lots of babble, something we called Zackenese, and lots of grunting, but not one single ACTUAL word. When I would mention this, I almost always heard the same thing - "Boys are slower to talk." Now I'm not sure where that can be proven scientifically. I have other sons and this certainly wasn't an issue for them. So, even after stepping out of my comfort zone and admitting out loud there might be something wrong, the reassurances I received from well meaning people simply left me feeling alone and worried. Yet, I did not cry.
At Zack's 2 year check up, we mentioned to our pediatrician that we were concerned that he wasn't talking. She was wonderful about addressing our concerns. As we talked with her, we realized there were many characteristics about Zack that were a bit different. He was a very very picky eater, he abhored riding in the car, he would watch the same show or play with the same toy endlessly. At that time, he loved Barney. We had a few VHS tapes, so he was able to watch a small variety of Barney as often as he wanted. One day, we bought a new Barney video. Well, it had some different kids in it than the ones he already had. He cried for two hours. It was a meltdown - although I didn't realize it at the time. So, as we discussed all of these things with Zack's doctor, she decided he should be evaluated by a team of people who specialized in this sort of thing. Yet, I did not cry.
After his evaluation, he was given a medical diagnosis of autism, enrolled in the head start preschool program (in which he would start when he was 3 years old), and given a speech therapist and a behavioral therapist. It was overwhelming! My instinct was to protect my baby. My husband and I fired the first behavioralist because she sent him into a meltdown within 5 minutes of being in our home. We researched autism, we struggled with rigidity, and we looked for a reason WHY. Yet, I did not cry.
Zack attended preschool at our neighborhood elementary school and had the MOST AMAZING teacher. For two years, he received his schooling and therapies from 3 amazing women. He started gaining words, socializing, and being affectionate. He went from refusing to participate to leading his class every day. While his speech was still miles behind, he could finally advocate for himself to get his needs met. As his two years came to an end, even though he would attend Kindergarten at this same school (mainstream with support), we were devastated to leave his teacher. As we expressed to her our love and gratitude for all that she had given Zack, I FINALLY cried. This beautiful amazing woman had found my child inside of himself, and helped him to be a part of the outside world. She gave him speech, confidence, friendships, love, and acceptance. As I tried to express to her the magnitude of my thankfulness, all I could do was cry. I cried for my bottled up fears, I cried for the uncertain future, but mostly I cried because she gave me my son. At the end of it all, I could not help but to cry.
Because of his teacher, along with his therapists, I had hope. It is still an uphill climb - but everyday I see a small improvement that sustains me. We would have none of this if not for his first teacher.
Thank You Mrs. Barrios!
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