College and Autism; Learning to Live in the Uncertainty

Right now I’m sitting on a college campus while my son is in class.

My autistic son.

He’s starting his third week of classes.  The first week, he wanted me to walk with him to his classrooms.  The beginning of the second week, he just wanted me to walk part of the way to his buildings.  By the end of the week, he knew where he was going and felt comfortable with just being dropped off at the campus.

Today, he started a new lab for his English class so he wanted me walk with him to the building because he wasn’t quite sure where it was located.  I waited the 50 minutes for him to get out of class only to have him say a quick hello, tell me class was okay, and say a quick goodbye as he sped off to his next class. fb_20160307_19_41_45_saved_picture

Amazing!

It’s been so fun to watch him adjust to this new phase of life; one we weren’t sure he would ever achieve.

He’s thinking more about fitting in with other students and looking more like a college man.  He’s thinking more about his future and what he wants that to look like.  He’s gaining confidence and feeling more mature.  I’m in awe of all that he has accomplished!

I have to say, though, these last few weeks have also been a little challenging for me.  Normally, during the first week or two of school, I email his teachers to introduce myself.  I ask a few questions and give them my information so they can contact me with any problems or concerns.  I tried to let my son manage his classes during his last few years of high school, but I followed his progress pretty closely.  (Particularly since we were in a very bad school district.)

This time around, it’s all on him.  He’s the one who has to communicate with his professors and give them his accommodations list.  And because it’s college, now he has to plot out his own calendar to make sure he gets his homework and projects done.  I can help, but having him do it is part of the learning process for him and me; him owning it and me letting go.

This learning process is different than it has been with my other kids.  Autism has a way of doing that.  It adds a whole different layer of issues and concerns.

I find myself anxious about his homework.  Can he do it to the level that is required?  Does he fully understand what’s expected of him?  Does he understand all aspects of the assignment? Can he really keep up with the work load?  How will he handle himself in class if he doesn’t do well or as well as he wanted?

I find myself nervous about his social interactions.  Will he talk to his fellow students?  Will they accept him as he is?  Will someone mock or tease him?  Will he find someone to have lunch with?  Will he make friends?

I find myself questioning his future.  Can he complete everything needed for his degree?  Will someone take a chance and hire him?   Will he make enough to support himself living on his own?

All the questions.

None of the answers.

I remind myself to focus on what I do know.

I know that when he was first diagnosed, they told us he would not be able to go to college.  Man, did he proved them wrong!

I know that countless therapists, teachers, paraprofessionals, behavior specialists, and counselors pushed him to do what they knew he could do even if he (or I) didn’t think he could.

I know that he has continued to learn, cope, advance, and manage new and difficult challenges at every new stage of life, even if the process didn’t look pretty.

I know that God knows him with all his challenges and has a plan for his life which includes a career and friends.

I know that only time will answer all my questions.

So continue to live in the uncertainty and trust God.  I just wish the reality of living it out was as easy as it looks on paper…

The Middle Part

This past June, my youngest four kids graduated from high school.  Within days, all of us were packing up and moving to a new city.

imageThus began our whirlwind summer…unpacking, various college orientations, church camp, preparations for our oldest to go on a mission trip, buying sprees for college supplies, trips to see friends, purchasing a new car, finding new doctors, and all the other fun that goes with moving.   And in the midst of it all, I was trying to prepare my heart for sending three more kids off to college.  (One of our sons is staying home and going to school locally.)

imageSo now that everyone has moved and we are all trying to get used to our new normals, I’m supposed to be diving into my ‘new season of  life’.  (Can you see me doing air quotes with a snarky smile?)  Part of which  includes a new beginning for my blog; a commitment to writing daily and posting more regularly, which should be easy considering it’s been nine months from my last posting!

It should be easy.

Which brings me to the present.  I have written and rewritten several posts that were to be the launching point of my new life. (Not that I put any kind of pressure on myself!)  The problem is, I don’t like any of them.  They fall flat.  They’re lifeless.  They’re lacking passion.

Part of it may be that I’m out of practice.  There is something to be said about practicing your craft so that it flows more easily.

imageBut mostly, I think it’s because right now my heart is divided and living in several locations across Texas, making writing from the heart very difficult.  Everything has lost some of its liveliness and spark.

Everyone who has gone before me has said that it will just take time.  I trust their words and know that life will again regain it’s color and richness.  It’s just getting through the middle part….

Lessons learned in dense fog

Today started with such promise.  I was going to my son’s cross country breakfast to celebrate the great season they had and then drive to see my daughter at college for lunch.

The breakfast was great.  The coach told the boys how proud she was of them, how much she loved them, and encouraged them to continue to push themselves both physically and academically.  Plus, there was a wonderful offering of breakfast treats.

As I was getting ready to leave, my phone rang.  I looked down to see that it was my aunt.  My heart sank.  I knew before I answered why she was calling.  Another aunt had been battling a rare, aggressive cancer for almost two years and was declining in health; she died in the e10357473_10203755503186009_4044010572899075843_narly morning hours.  I held it together while I said my goodbyes to Coach, but as I hugged my son goodbye, the tears began to sting my eyes.  He sweetly walked me to the van as I told him the news.  He was very kind and compassionate as I expressed my sorrow and weariness of death.  I hugged him good bye, got in the van, and began my three hour drive to see my daughter.

The dense fog I encountered matched my mood, dark and gloomy.  I began to think about the past eight days; the one year anniversary of my mom’s death, the death and funeral of my kids’ friend’s mom, and now my aunt’s death.  I thought about all the deaths we grieved in the past year and the numerous funerals we’ve attended.  My heart was heavy and my soul weary.

That’s when God started speaking to my heart.  He told me to keep my eyes on Him and He would lead me through the fog, just like the truck He provided.

You see, there was this green Chevy truck in front of me.  I had become somewhat attached to it.  The driver was driving at a good rate of speed (not painfully slow or recklessly), he slowed down when the speed limit dropped, and he made sure that he kept a safe distance behind the car in front of him.  Somehow, I felt more at ease following him given the road conditions and my state of mind.  I slowed when he did.  I sped up when he did.  I kept my eyes on where he was going.

Right now life seems hazy and dark.  Things just don’t seem clear and I feel a little uncertain.  So God reminded me to focus on Him; go where He goes, slow when He slows, speed up when He speeds up, turn when He turns.  He reminded me to trust that He knows the road and where we are going.  He reminded me that fog eventually burns off and the sun shines again.

But for now, just follow…

 

Grief of the wall

Today is the one year anniversary of my mom’s death.  I knew it was coming.  I’ve been anticipating it.  To tell you the truth, I’ve been dreading it.

All year long, I’ve seen other people post things about death anniversaries.  They are usually these beautiful tributes to people they’ve lost describing the deep impact of their lives and how much they miss them.  I read them.  I’m touched by them.  I usually cry over them.  I hurt for my friends who are grieving.

But to be honest, I secretly (well, not so secretly anymore) hate them.  They touch a deep scar that still hurts when poked; one that was created years ago causing a deep rift in my relationship with my mom.

There came a time in my late teens when my mom no longer wanted me to be a part of her life; I wasn’t welcome.  It was a horrible time in both of our lives filled with anger and deep hurt.  Over the next several years, there was some contact, but usually out of necessity not desire.  God worked in both of our lives and there was eventually forgiveness, but no real intimacy or closeness.  Over the last several years, we spoke more often and honestly, but there was always a barrier…a point where she said, ‘no further.’

i_built_a_wall_around_my_heart_Yes, I loved her and she loved me.  But as I’ve shared before, she had some of her own deep hurts and wounds.  Coupled with the painful circumstances between us, a wall was built that kept most everyone at bay.

So, a year after her death, I find myself wanting to be like other people who write those loving tributes; missing the presence of  the person lost, longing to have just one more conversation with them, and feeling the loss so deeply because they were so close.  But that’s not my reality.

My reality is once again mourning the loss of a dream.  A dream that one day there would be a closeness, an intimacy that I always longed for.  I had grown to accept the state of our relationship and was thankful that we were in each other’s lives, but I held onto hope that some day it would be different.  That glimmer of hope died a year ago today.

So I grieve.

I grieve that there was so much pain and hurt in our past.  I grieve that the wall stood strong and was not destroyed.  I grieve that we missed out on what could have been a beautiful relationship.

I know that one day I will see her again and there will be no pain, no mourning, no wall.  But for today, I grieve…

The Endless Rain

As I stood there, cold and tired, I could feel the frustration rising in my body.  I wanted to jump up and down and scream at the top of my lungs.  Since I was in public and didn’t want to totally humiliate my son, I refrained.

We had arrived at the pier a little before seven in the morning.  My son was going to run his first half marathon with two friends from school.  I was excited for him and thrilled I could be there to cheer him on!  We parked in the grassy field as directed and were instantly joined by millions of giant mosquitoes.  It’s not unusual to see a lot of mosquitoes where we live, especially considering all of the rain we’ve been having, but I was still surprised by their number and size.  I was kicking myself as I realized I forgot to bring the bug spray.  I hoped that someone at the race would have mercy on us and share some.

We sat in the car for a few minutes bracing ourselves for what was about to happen.  We took a deep breath and opened the doors.  Immediately, we were swarmed by the insects.  We quickly walked toward the gathering area for the runners, hoping that getting out of the grass would help.  It didn’t.  Fortunately, runners are a friendly group and we found a wonderful woman willing to share her bug spray.

My son met up with his friends and they made their way to the starting line about the time it started to mist.  But I was prepared for this part; I wore a rain jacket and had my big umbrella.

I watched the start of the race and walked to the first area to cheer them on.  That’s when it started to rain.  And do you know what mosquitoes do when it starts to rain?  They head for cover under umbrellas.  I couldn’t believe it.  Hundreds were swarming all over my face and hands.  Thankfully, I found another gracious person who shared some of his spray with me.  This time I not only sprayed myself, but doused the underside of my umbrella.  The mosquitoes were undeterred.

WP_20151107_002The other spectators and I were quite a sight.  We stood there huddled under umbrellas swatting the determined  insects while trying to stay dry.  We were not successful with either endeavor.  We tried to encourage each other that at least we weren’t the ones running in the pouring rain and getting eaten.  After awhile, though, the rain, wind, and constant biting started to get annoying.

All of it seemed worthwhile as my son crossed the finish line.  He was the first on his team and in the top five finishers.  It was great to see him so proud of his accomplishment.

Unfortunately, as we waited for the awards ceremony, the rain continued and the wind picked up.  By now, the lower half of my body was wet and cold, and the mosquitoes were still out for blood.  I tried to just enjoy the boys and their excitement for a well run race, but I was struggling.   After standing in the pouring rain and fighting insects for over three hours, my spirits began to fall and my frustration began to rise.  That’s when I began throwing the temper tantrum in my head.

I started crying out to God to still the storm and kill the bugs.  I was cold, tired, and weary of being bitten and pelted with rain.  I was quickly reaching my limit.  I wanted relief!

As I continued my complaining rant to God, I found myself moving from the frustrations of weather and insects to the weariness of life.

It’s a tough season right now. Responsibilities seem to be pelting me from every direction, draining my energy.  The four kids at home are feeling the weight of making decisions about their future while trying to balance responsibilities, relationships, and down time.  It can create a lot of activity and emotion!  Mix that together with dad being gone and you get a weary mom.  A mom in need of relief.

Thankfully, that’s just what I got.  After the awarding of medals and a nice, hot shower, we headed to Houston for the weekend.  We saw a movie, had a great dinner, explored Space Center Houston, and played at a fountain.  Thoughts of college admissions, college papers and tests, work, and responsibilities were put aside.  It was wonderful!  By the end, we were all laughing and running around playfully like little kids.  It so refreshed my weary bones.

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As I said goodbye to my husband and oldest daughter, I was sad, and yes I cried, but I felt so much better.  The rain had stopped.  The mosquitoes were gone.  I had found relief.

So even though today is the start of another full week, I know it will be okay. I have renewed energy and a heart full of joy.

Besides, Thanksgiving break is only two weeks away…

 

 

An exercise in thanksgiving

A few years ago, I read Ann Voskamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts.  It was such a beautiful reminder to be intentionally grateful.  As a family, we were experiencing a season of grumbling and I thought it would be a good idea to incorporate some thankfulness into our lives.

So I made a poster.

imageI incorporated words from the book.  I wrote Eucharisteo, which means Thanksgiving in Greek, on the top.  I wrote the words grace and joy, eucharisteo’s root words, on either side and Thanksgiving on the bottom.  I hung the poster on the wall next to our dining table with some markers.  Each night before anyone could eat, we had to write down something for which we were thankful.

At first, there was some groaning.  The kids weren’t sure what to write.  I told them the goal was not to make it too elaborate or complicated; it could be those little blessings that are easily overlooked.  The wonderful thing is, over time, it became easier to think of things as we all began to look for blessings throughout the day.  We became intentional.

And we experienced a change in our house.   Our conversations at dinner consisted of sharing all the great things that happened throughout the day.  There was less complaining, more gratitude, and more joy.  It was wonderful.

We did it for one month, but I left the poster up for a couple of years.  It was a great reminder of all our blessings and gifts from God.  Blessings that might have otherwise been forgotten.

When I got it out today, it was fun to read the things we wrote down.  A friend’s laugh.  Rain during football practice. Our dog.  Cake batter.  Whistling.  Dad coming home.  Friends and family.  It made me smile.

And again I was reminded of all our gifts.

 

Onicon

I watched him as he bounded out of the car to meet up with his friends.  He had been waiting for this day for six weeks.  He was on his way to Onicon.

imageNow if you’re like I was, you may be asking what is Onicon?   Someone told me to think of it as Comic-con for people interested in Manga.  My son learned about it when he became a member of the high school’s Manga club.  He goes to their meetings every Wednesday after school where they talk about, watch, and read all things Manga.  He has made several friends that he actually talks to outside of school.  I may not appreciate Manga like the members, but I do love that my son has found a place to belong and people who are glad to have him around!

So this morning when I woke him up early to get ready to catch the bus, he quickly got out of bed to eat breakfast and get ready.  He was so excited.  The only other time he gets out of bed so quickly is to get a pop tart on his gluten day.  (He loves things with gluten, but we don’t like what it does to him so we limit it to one day every five weeks.)

I sat for several minutes watching him as he greeted his friends.  He was smiling his big, I can’t believe it’s time, smile.  I have to honest, I was a little nervous to let him go.  His autism and naïve nature can make him an easy target.  The event is being held at convention center with hundreds of people, some of whom may not have the best of intentions.  But as I looked at the crowd of students who greeted him this morning, I knew he would be fine.  They know him.  They know how he thinks.  They know his weaknesses.  And they care about him.  They watch out for him.  They would defend him if needed.

As I drove away, I was the one with the big smile.  We have prayed for him to find his place and friends who see the wonderful things we see.  I wasn’t sure it would ever happen.  But it has.  He has found his people, his tribe.  It’s a beautiful sight!

 

 

I wonder what my mom thought

imageYesterday when I was looking at photos, I came across this one of my mom holding me as an infant.  It’s one of the few photos I have of me as a child.

The more I looked at it, the more I began to wonder.  What was she thinking?  What were her dreams and plans?  Did she like being a mom?  What did she think and feel when she looked at me?  What were her dreams for me?  Did she have any idea of the pain to come?

These are all questions I wish I could ask her.  But I can’t.   She died almost eleven months ago.  And when she was alive, she didn’t really want to talk about her feelings or past events.  So now I’m left to imagine.

I imagine that my arrival brought her joy; that she was just as excited to have me as I was to have my own children.  I imagine her holding me, rocking me, and staring at me with a heart full of love.  I imagine her dreaming about the woman I would become, the things I would accomplish, and the family I would have.

When you’re a new mom, there’s such hope and anticipation for what the future holds for you and your child.  Nothing is set yet; there are only possibilities.  It’s such a sweet time.

But then life seems to happen, both good and bad.  I imagine my mom had no idea of the pain and sorrow that would come into our lives or the rift that would be created in our relationship.   I imagine she didn’t anticipate the forgiveness we would have to offer each other as adults.   Those are the things you don’t plan for when your child is young, yet it’s a reality for so many of us.

So what’s a woman to do with the hurt and disappointment?  I know there’s no easy answer.  I know for me, though, I want to remember the sweet times.  The times my mom gathered my on her lap and held me tight.  The times we laughed and played.  The times we took on the world together.

And the not so good times?  Or the really awful times?  I want to pour out grace, mercy, and forgiveness on a mom who was doing her best as a hurt and broken woman.  I wish I could say I’m always gracious.  I’m not.  But I’m learning…

My Heart

It’s late where I live and I’m ready to call it a day.  But my brain won’t shut down because it’s day 29 in my 31 day challenge and I haven’t posted anything yet.

It’s not that I haven’t got any ideas; I just can’t seem to light on one long enough to write a complete post.  My mind and my heart have been too consumed with these five wonderful faces.

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I miss having them all here.

We FaceTimed my oldest daughter and husband tonight since they were having dinner together.  It was great to see their faces and to listen to everyone interact, but I miss being in the same house together.  They are my heart and it’s never quite whole when they’re gone…

Trying to run in the muck and mire

A couple of days ago, one of my sons ran in the regional high school cross country meet.  It’s the meet that he and his team have been training for since June.  They ran through the Texas summer heat every day, rain or shine.  My son even made time for training when we went on vacation.  When the school year started, he was up and running every morning before classes and met with his teammates on the weekend.  They pushed each other and set their goal to win first place at the district meet which hadn’t been done in twenty years.  And that’s exactly what they did.  They were excited and ready to take on Regionals.

Then Hurricane Patricia rolled in.   We didn’t get a direct hit, thankfully, but we did get a lot of rain.  Knowing the course that the boys were going to run, we knew the rain would make it treacherous.  And it did.  There were places on the course that had become mud pits that were calf deep and hills that became muddy slip and slides.

When we arrived at the meet, several other divisions had already run.  What we saw was incredible.  Those runners who had already faced the course, were covered in solid mud from their knees down.  The rest of their bodies were covered in layers of splattered mud from their own feet and those of their competitors.  Several runners lost their shoes and socks in the thick mud.  All of the runners were exhausted from all the effort it took to finish.

It was at that point I was thankful it wasn’t me having to run in all that mess.  My son’s team knew the mud would create a challenge, but they were up for it.  They were happy to be there and were going to face the course and do their best.   Everyone pushgroupregionalsed through the mud and made it to the finish line.

Unfortunately, the team did not make it to the state meet, but they had great tales to tell about all the mud and obstacles.  I was proud of them for keeping their shoes on and finishing strong.  They kept going even when the mud got deep.

Their race is so much how life has been lately.  I had a course set out in my mind.  One that I’m somewhat familiar with; I’ve run it before.  I’ve done some training and preparation for it.  But the rain has come and changed it.  It’s now riddled with muck and mire.  Some of the pits seem so deep and the mud so thick, I wonder if I’ll be able to get out.  And the course I thought I would finish quickly, is taking so much longer than I had anticipated.  My legs are tired and my lungs are burning, yet I still have a long way to go.  There’s a part of me that wants to give up, call it quits.  But deep down, I know I would be very disappointed with myself if I did.

So I keepdezandwillregionals moving forward.  Slower than I want and expending more energy than I planned.  I keep thinking about that finish line.  I know it’s out there.  I want to see it.  I want to cross it.  I know there’s nothing like finishing, breaking through that tape all covered in mud, knowing I gave it all.

Just ask my son…