He's the cutest boy I've ever seen--huge eyes with long, gorgeous eyelashes, impish smile. He's also standing in the corner for hitting his little sister. Typical day. Earlier his sister went to the corner for baiting him, so at least he's typical in that regard. :) He's smart as a whip in math, particularly spatial concepts. But ask him why he did something? You are unlikely to get an answer. He can recite a favorite show almost verbatim, complete with sound effects. But other little kids try to talk to him--they're generally ignored. Ask him what he did in school today--he "had fun at school today." His standard answer. But then, maybe that isn't all that strange for a 7 year-old. At least the answer isn't "nothing!" :)
I didn't even know what autism was when he was born. He was just my sweet boy. He had some idiosyncrases, like staring into space seemingly unable to snap out. Like spinning in circles, looking out the corner of his eye. Like failing to respond to his name when he was busy. Like laying on the floor to roll his cars at eye level. Like being able to sing a full song at a young age, but saying next to nothing in communication. To tell the truth, none of these things concerned me much. I remembered doing a lot of the same things as a child--and I turned out all right, didn't I? Besides, his older sister, Star had been a very early talker and was a girl and my only previous experience as a parent. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to be just like her, especially when he was a boy. I finally heard about autism on a news special a when he was about 18 months, I think. The kids were rocking, screaming if anyone came close, banging heads on the wall. Nothing like my kid. I remember thinking, "Sad. I'm so glad I don't have to deal with that."
A few months later, I am growing more concerned that he isn't talking, except to quote things or repeating the last word I said. I think it is my fault. Star is such a talker and talking to me constantly that I feel I haven't had time for working with him better. So I go to the internet to look up language-learning activities. I keep running into autism articles. One finally has a list of red flags. Sonshine has half of them--well more than they said was needed to raise concern. My stomach sank, I grew cold all over, the blood rushed away from my head. I knew, knew deep down that my life had just changed. Over the months and numerous tests that followed, I held on to the hope that I was wrong--please let me be wrong! My husband and I kept saying "IF he has autism..." in all our conversations of Sonshine's issues. It's sad when you actually wish your child has a hearing problem because that would be so much easier, so much more understandable.
But I wasn't wrong. The day I got the diagnosis I cried even though I expected it. To hear what you had been dreading for months was still heartbreaking. Irrational though it is, I felt he'd died. At least all my expectations, hopes, and dreams for him had to be changed. I still hold on to the hope that he may have the semblance of a normal life. Whether that will happen or not, only time and hard work will tell. We've had ups and downs, hope, fun, and despair. Although I tried not to, sometimes I got down about it over the years, still do.
But a few months ago, Sonshine said something that profoundly affected me. I was going through his old baby clothes that I'd held onto in case we had another boy and was going to give them away. I was goofing off and teasing him and his sisters about whether they could wear them or not. I reminded Sonshine that he was once a baby. (I don't think he really believed it.) Then suddenly I was looking at his clothes and remembering the baby he'd been, so full of life, so full of promise and I cried. I cried for what was lost. I cried because I wondered if I'd known before what I know now, would I have done it differently? Would I have worked harder, tried harder, finally found the right way to help him succeed? Would he be doing better if I was a better parent? I wanted my baby back, to have a second chance. I disturbed my poor girls. They wanted to know what was wrong and I cried that I missed my baby Sonshine and I wanted him back. Then, in a moment of unique concern, Sonshine came to me and said, "Don't cry mommy. I'm right here. I'm [Sonshine.]" Then he went on his way. He was right. He is still that boy, full of life, full of joy, full of promise. He is the same person. He's my Sonshine.
