On Autism.

From the start, I wanted this blog to be full of joy---tiny shimmers or crackling fire crackers. But I have some major challenges in my life, and I need to write about those too sometimes.

Before Oliver was born, all I knew about autism was in a Toni Braxton commercial in which she talked about her son. I saw it in the OB's office. My best friend Melissa was a special education major and worked with kids with disabilities. Still, autism was not on my list of worries.

At three, Oliver started flapping his hands. He looked happy, and being clueless, we just said, "Flap your wings!" My mom said she noticed some delays. We wanted to wait until he was four--see if he caught up.

He didn't. We got the diagnosis, and meanwhile, so much of daily life got more difficult. We struggled to get Oliver to eat (he was tiny from birth), and we couldn't potty train him. He echoed us and he favorite shows. His rare eye contact, when it came, felt like he was blessing us. We got him into pre-K for kids with autism. My mother visited to help and to back me up in meetings. We got him into occupational and speech therapy and eventually into ABA. We got him a neurologist and a psychiatrist.

We've done, it seems, everything.

Now, I see kids at the playground or at school, and if I had any tears left, I would cry. My throat tenses, and my face burns. These children make friends and play games. These kids talk to each other. I can't have a conversation with my son. We're at a loss when he misbehaves because he doesn't understand cause and consequence.

We go day by day. He shreds our books and mail. Our walls are bare because he kept pulling down our pictures. He seems so far away even as he's a huge presence. I don't know how to be a good mother to him. I don't know how to guide him.

Yes, I could cry for hours, days.

But then, I turn on a song, and he dances beside me, every limb free, face alight. I hope he understands when I tell him I love him.