Maile Hernandez

Today at the mall, Max and I got in the elevator.  He loves elevators, and he was hopping around squealing and flapping his arms.  He was completely adorable, and at that moment, utterly, obviously autistic.

This very yuppie looking couple got in with us.  She was pregnant, and they already had a little baby in a stroller.  They got in and just went quiet.

I’m sure they thought Max was cute.  I’m sure they also thought, “Hope we’re not her someday.”

When Max was about four or five, I knew a couple people who got pregnant.  They came to me asking my opinion about shots.  Which I gave, unsatisfactory though it is (the jury’s out but my gut tells me Max was autistic from conception).

I remember thinking, really?  You’re actually asking me, what can I do to make sure my child doesn’t come out like yours?

When Max was first diagnosed, we went to CARE, this place that specializes in dietary adjustments.  We were looking into everything at first.  I remember waiting in the lobby.  Two things happened.

First, the girls behind the desk were laughing and chattering about how many people were coming into the office.

“Job security for us!”  They crowed.

I didn’t say anything, but was thinking balefully, “Hi.  I’m sitting right here.  My son was diagnosed last week with autism.  I’m so glad it means you can get your nails done every week.”

Then, a 12 year old with autism came out.  She was very overweight and nonverbal.  Smiling and happy, she galloped into the waiting room and promptly pulled her dress off over her head.

Her mom came rushing in behind and pulled it back on her.  She just laughed and said, “Sorry guys, my little stripper!”

I thought, “Oh, my God.”

How things change.

Because for years I would have thought, sharing the elevator with those people: “They’re praying they won’t have to live with autism.  And they probably won’t.  But I’m glad that, for this second, they have to live with the fear that I live with every day by looking at us.  Afraid, guys?  Be afraid! . . .”

And so on.  A litany of bitter thoughts.  And they would all have come from fear.

I went through SO many years of “Why us?”

And it wasn’t self-pity, although it sounds like it.  It was constant terror.  It was, “Why am I given this responsibility that I’m so obviously not good enough for?  Why would God set me up to fail, not only myself, but my own child?”

I constantly felt like everyone was just on the sidelines, watching me struggle to clamber out of a hole in the ice, thinking, “Man, bummer.”

But yesterday on the elevator, I felt . . . smug.

I thought, “Maybe they are afraid they’ll have to be a parent to a special needs child.  And maybe they’re looking at us and wondering if they could do this.”

But now, I don’t have to wonder.  Because I am doing it.

I’m doing it.  And I know I can keep doing it.  I want to keep doing it.

Parenting him has gotten better now that he talks and communicates.  That communication gives you so much more confidence and feedback.  I’m not sure I’d feel this way if he was still basically unreachable.  That’s hard.

But I also think it’s gotten better just because time has passed, and we change.

It sucks to get wrinkles and that kind of thing, but in this way, man, the passage of time is such a blessing.

The very same thing that made me feel inadequate, shut off from the world, for so long, finally is becoming a source of confidence for me.

And where in the past I would have gotten off that elevator thinking, “F— those people and the normal life they’re going to have” - today I smiled and wished I could tell them, “Don’t worry.  You’ll be OK.”

This entry was posted on Monday, November 16th, 2009 at 6:52 am and is filed under Max/autism. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.