"Come" "Lesch Go" "Schwim"

Emily loves the water. L-O-V-E-S the water. So this year, I was determined to take her to the pool.  I packed my bag. Towel, sunscreen. apple juice, lollies (suckers), extra swim diaper, and alot of courage and hope. We got there and had to stand in line - an impossible feat for Emily.  Logic and reason do not apply to a child with Autism. They cannot understand why they have to be right HERE, in line, when clearly the pool is over THERE. Imagine how you would act if someone was dragging you to the mouth of a volcano full of bubbling lava with the intent of throwing you in. That is a meltdown for Emily. She screams, shrieks, cries, hits, bites, kicks, flails, and tries to run away. It is physically and mentally exhausting. I try to calm her, try to stay calm myself, even though I can feel every pair of eyes staring at us like we had just come out of a spaceship. Part of me wants to scream at them, "What!? What are you looking at? This is not her fault! This is not my fault!" But I cannot listen to that part, I have to remain calm. Please God, make this line move faster.... 

Inside, in the pool, it is heaven. Emily has a smile on her face full of so much joy it moves me to tears. She splashes, she jumps. She is having the time of her life.........then, the 10 min lifeguard break. Back to the volcano. I physically restrain her with my arms and legs while she screams. Again, the eyes. The stares. I chant - remain calm, remain calm. I sing to Emily - it seems to help. She particularly likes "You've got a friend in me" from Toy Story. I can feel the tears well up because I feel her pain, her frustration, her inability to understand why she can't swim now when she was just swimming a few minutes ago. Please, oh please, is the break over? I am running out of strength and she is starting to smash her heels into the cement. The whistle blows. the sweetest sound ever.....Lifeguard break is over, and we are back in heaven.

....Every time I take her, it gets a little bit better, but it will never be what it should. There will always be a line, always a break. There will always be a kid asking me why she has on a swim diaper, why she can't talk, why is she screaming like that. There will always be adults staring at us, always wondering what the hell is wrong with that child. But today, right now, my daughter "schwimms", and she is happy. That is all I can ask for today. 

Group

Tuesdays. I look forward to them. I get to go to my support group. It's an Aspergers support group, and although Emily has Autism, they are both in the Autism Spectrum, so we all share very similar stories. I love these people. When Emily was diagnosed, I muddled through this fog of denial and overwhelmingness, and then I found them.  They lifted my fog, gave me strength, knowledge,  & belief in myself as a mother.  We laugh together, we cry together, we get angry together.  I can't imagine my life without them. 

I also go to an Autism support group one Friday a month. This one is fairly new to me, although the women I have met through it I feel like I have known forever. I believe there is nothing stronger in this world than a group of mothers committed to making sure their children live their lives to the uttmost fullest.  These women are amazing. They are strong, they are flexible, they do not back down in the face of adversity. I am humbled to be in their presence. 

The thing about group is that you can be yourself. You can say whatever you want, ask any question you want, and no one judges you for it. Everyone has been there, everyone understands, everyone GETS IT. You can have friends that have neurotypical children, and they listen, and feel for you, but they don't get it. They can't possibly. But people at group do. And that's why I love them. They are like oxygen to me.

I sometimes think of what my life might be like if Emily didn't have Autism. Would it be easier? Yes. Would it be less stressful, less physically, mentally, and emotionally draining? Perhaps. But I also think it would be more lonely, less joyful and not as fulfilling. I would not have had all these beautiful, wonderful, remarkable people cross my path, filling my life of their joy and friendship. That I cannot regret. I cannot condemn her Autism for the simple fact that it has taken me down a road that is full and rich and joyous. Yes, it is full of potholes. Yes, sometimes the gravel hurts my feet and the mud on it is hard to walk through - but still, a lovely road nonetheless.