Calling All Revolutionaries: Families for Freedom

It has been difficult to find families who want to work on a new revolutionary way to provide a full life for their adult children with autism, perhaps because we have been looking for adults that are just beginning the transition process. The children are still in school and the parents are satisfied with what they are doing and receiving for services; having worked to get it right, they are making progress and perhaps even seeing the positive changes that can come with maturity and stability.

The nightmare experience of seeing all that progress disappear into the maw that is adult services has not yet occurred.

Last week I attended an invigorating “brainstorming” session about planning the future of the autism programming for the new agency that I am working with for Lily’s new life.  I was amazed to be invited and even more astounded that “Families” was the first on everyone’s list of values. So often in my three and a half-year experience with the adult system the parents are ignored or “yessed” in meetings. The attitude is one of “us” and “them”. How refreshing and encouraging to meet this very sincere group that I hope soon to be an even more active member of.

Today, looking out over the shining blue of the bay with the puffy clouds and the dappled sand, I wonder whether the first English, French and Viking settlers to these shores thought about the physical beauty surrounding them as they pulled in their nets and laid out the fish to dry in the sun.

Were they too busy working to survive to be awestruck by the colors of the sunrise after so many days of rain and fog?

Did the wildflowers blowing in the breeze ease the ache of their backs as they gathered wood for the winter and plowed and seeded the garden?

Here in the Northeastern United States, with long, cold winters of bleak landscape and hungry wildlife, we treasure the few short weeks of spring and summer, hoarding days spent fishing, gardening, hiking and sailing, or perhaps simply sitting on a rock, gazing out at the beauty.

We know what man has done to nature as well; we have the contrast of the cities and industrial pollution versus the sea, woods and farms and appreciate all the more what we still have seeing it next to the examples of destruction.

The First People, or Native Americans or Indians or whatever you wish to call them in your culture, appreciated the sustaining value of the natural world around them and protecting it has prominence in their religions and way of life. They knew this truth without need to compare with the absence of nature; it puzzles me sometimes why we seem to need to miss something after it is already gone.

Missing our school experience that treated our daughter as a whole person, and having the experience of seeing her regress under a program that sees her as flawed and broken, to be managed like unwanted refuse, we have become acutely aware of the destruction around us and wish to reclaim and rebuild her world to more closely resemble what we had before.

We will build a new world based on the rights that Americans hold to be self-evident, a revolutionary new world, dedicated to the rights of ALL people to happiness and freedom.

Perhaps we need to look for our families amongst those who have seen the future, instead of those who are have not yet experienced the destruction.

Autism and Empathy, the Fixers and the Huggers

Autism and Empathy, the Fixers and the Huggers.

As I read the piece noted above from Autistics Aware, I thought of how well my daughter reads my moods. When I am completely overwhelmed, she actually looks at me with sympathy in her eyes and refrains from any button pushing games, like raid the refrigerator. When I am sick and ask for her cooperation, she always gives it. When I need a hug from her and ask for it she submits to my arms.  When she hugs, it is usually from excessive anxiety although others interpret the hug as affection.  We “neurotypicals” crave affection from our children who have autism and will take it any way we can get it.

Thank you to this blogger for telling us about the inner world of autism that my lovely daughter is unable to share yet.

 

Autism and Dementia: Christmas Memories of my mother

When my daughter was born, we did not know yet that my mother would soon be sliding down into dementia.  Around the time that my daughter lost her speech and the word “AUTISM” became a regular part of the family vocabulary, we began to notice that Mom’s cognitive skills were also in decline.  Both responded to music; both had unexplained anxieties; both were thrilled with the small traditions of Christmas, like the singing moose Santa we brought out every year.  Near the end of her life, almost any word would summon forth, from the thinnest of remaining memories, a song.

This short piece is a response to a fellow blogger who offered a “Christmas Contest” for memories of mother in 100 words.  As I find it difficult to remember my mother with any objectivity, I decided to write my answer and this is it.

Mourning does not become me

Your child with autism is not the child that you thought you would have.

Following a twitter link, I came across a book, “Following Ezra” by Tom Fields-Meyer, that deals with how he has approached his child who has autism.  There are also interesting comments on his blog.

The question posed is whether or not you should mourn for the child you did not have. The author of the book has a refreshing view; he tries to celebrate the child that he does have, instead.

After many years of effort, I have been able to approach that attitude with some success.

When you give birth to a baby that is, from the start, not quite right in some way, you can grieve, accept and move on to face the challenges ahead.  However, if your baby seems quite lovely and intelligent and you lose her to autism at the age of 1 or 2, then it seems as if the child she was has died.  You have no time to mourn her death because you are thrust into dealing with enormous challenges.  You push the feelings aside and try to keep your head above water searching for answers and trying therapies, dealing with the day-to-day.

Once in a while you can glimpse that former child in the child you have; there is always the hope that you can get her back.  So you put off the mourning and accepting a bit longer.

When I have allowed myself to mourn, (or wallow in the grief more like), it can be paralyzing.  My thoughts become circular and pointless and I am unable to productively deal with the crisis at hand.  And there is always a crisis.

That is the challenge: to break the attachment to the hope that you will get the first child back and relish the rewards of who she has become.  Or not become.  Not riding around in cars with boys, not taking illicit drugs,  not doing the scary things we associate with teenage girls.

And when you do follow her around you find someone who is quite lovely indeed.

Eating with Autism-1

One of my favorite measures of “well-being” is eating and appetite; when we are happy and contented, most of us enjoy eating and sharing meals with friends and family.  When anxiety and depression set in, this simple and universal pleasure is lost to us.

A recent piece in the New York Times shows families of all types eating together and enjoying the “feeling that everything is going to be all right, if only for the moment”.  The photos are by Stephanie Sinclair and text by Sam Sifton.

Our family, like many these days, does not gather together often enough because of international travel for work and the life styles of our extended families. We did recently have my husband and his three siblings gathered in our house and our daughter who has severe autism was able to join us.

We had been warned by her staff at her group home that she had been unstable and dangerous after a recent medication change.  They advised us not to bring her home for this gathering.  What a mistake that would have been.  In the loving arms of her family, eating, talking and laughing about good memories, her anxieties melted away and we enjoyed the best times for a long time, all with family.

If only we did not all live on opposite ends of the earth…