Autism tricks that steal our moments
Hunter told us a few weeks ago that he wanted a Halloween party. He talked about the decorations, the food, handing out candy...and then we got the email from his teacher:
"Just wanted to let you know that Hunter has been inviting many of his friends to your house for your Halloween party. I thought I should email you so you would be prepared in case some of these friends showed up on your doorstep!"
So we organized a party. I invited his three best buddies, and 2 of them were available. We then extended the invitation to a few friends, and ended up having almost 60 people in our front yard! From the get-go, we had trouble. The kids dressed in their costumes, and as the guests started to arrive, Hunter became inconsolable because he could not find his mask. We tried everything...walked in the house with Peyton's mask, waited a few minutes, told him we found it- but it was no use trying to convince him. He ran back and forth, breaking down in tears, avoiding his friends..
it was heartbreaking.
I was torn between hosting friends, running games, having the food ready...but I realized that nothing mattered more than helping him find that mask.
After tearing apart closets, his room, drawers, under couches...I finally found it tucked away in a shelf in the toy closet. Victory!!
But even with his prized mask, he still couldn't regain composure.
And again, I realized how much I sometimes despise Autism.
While all of his friends were running around, playing games like pumpkin bowling, skeleton building against the clock, limbo, snapping pictures...
he was huddled under a blanket in one of our adirondack chairs.
By himself.
Alone.
It is moments like these that the anger overcomes me. The "whys" return to my head. The unanswerable questions return and I want to pick that boy up and hug him so unbelievably tight.
I met a new mom this week who didn't know Hunter's story, and after hearing a brief history, I told her that he was making so much progress, but every day was a challenge. She replied, "But it could be worse, right?"
Could it?
Of course it could. But the heartache of seeing your child sitting by himself, complaining of being cold due to his adrenaline/fight or flight, crying by himself on the porch, saying, "I can't go trick or treating! What if I don't know the right words?"....
it tears your heart apart.
So as ironic as it was, myself dressed as a "social butterfly," my son sat alone and upset.
I dried his tears, grabbed his hand, and told him he had a choice to make: put on a smile and join his friends for trick or treating, or head back inside and get ready for bed.
He chose the fun- and as soon as he conquered the first house, he was off and running for the next hour...
with his buddies...
smiling...
and enjoying a holiday.
A simple shift, like a missing mask, caused him to almost miss another occasion, but he was able to overcome the sadness and anxiety and participate with everyone else.
That night, Hunter asked me to sit in the rocker with him when I turned off the light. I took him in my lap, all 75 pounds of him, and he curled up like he used to.
"Mommy? Thank you for my Halloween party."
Heart strings officially pulled.
And I totally took these pictures today, since I wasn't able to get them on the actual Halloween night!
"Just wanted to let you know that Hunter has been inviting many of his friends to your house for your Halloween party. I thought I should email you so you would be prepared in case some of these friends showed up on your doorstep!"
So we organized a party. I invited his three best buddies, and 2 of them were available. We then extended the invitation to a few friends, and ended up having almost 60 people in our front yard! From the get-go, we had trouble. The kids dressed in their costumes, and as the guests started to arrive, Hunter became inconsolable because he could not find his mask. We tried everything...walked in the house with Peyton's mask, waited a few minutes, told him we found it- but it was no use trying to convince him. He ran back and forth, breaking down in tears, avoiding his friends..
it was heartbreaking.
I was torn between hosting friends, running games, having the food ready...but I realized that nothing mattered more than helping him find that mask.
After tearing apart closets, his room, drawers, under couches...I finally found it tucked away in a shelf in the toy closet. Victory!!
But even with his prized mask, he still couldn't regain composure.
And again, I realized how much I sometimes despise Autism.
While all of his friends were running around, playing games like pumpkin bowling, skeleton building against the clock, limbo, snapping pictures...
he was huddled under a blanket in one of our adirondack chairs.
By himself.
Alone.
It is moments like these that the anger overcomes me. The "whys" return to my head. The unanswerable questions return and I want to pick that boy up and hug him so unbelievably tight.
I met a new mom this week who didn't know Hunter's story, and after hearing a brief history, I told her that he was making so much progress, but every day was a challenge. She replied, "But it could be worse, right?"
Could it?
Of course it could. But the heartache of seeing your child sitting by himself, complaining of being cold due to his adrenaline/fight or flight, crying by himself on the porch, saying, "I can't go trick or treating! What if I don't know the right words?"....
it tears your heart apart.
So as ironic as it was, myself dressed as a "social butterfly," my son sat alone and upset.
I dried his tears, grabbed his hand, and told him he had a choice to make: put on a smile and join his friends for trick or treating, or head back inside and get ready for bed.
He chose the fun- and as soon as he conquered the first house, he was off and running for the next hour...
with his buddies...
smiling...
and enjoying a holiday.
A simple shift, like a missing mask, caused him to almost miss another occasion, but he was able to overcome the sadness and anxiety and participate with everyone else.
That night, Hunter asked me to sit in the rocker with him when I turned off the light. I took him in my lap, all 75 pounds of him, and he curled up like he used to.
"Mommy? Thank you for my Halloween party."
Heart strings officially pulled.
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| pumpkin bowling |
 |
| peyton's little buddy |
 |
| building skeletons |
 |
| doing the limbo |
 |
| organized chaos |
 |
| old man and social butterfly |
 |
| my superhero |
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