Somehow, after a few years, I managed to pull myself out of that dark place and focused on striving to help Lee reach his fullest potential possible. I remember sitting one day with him in my lap at age 3, letting the tears flow. I realized how much sadness I was putting into him, and how much it wasn't helping him or myself. Then I placed myself in his shoes (as much as I could because autism is an unimaginable condition) and could feel what he would want for me if he could speak. He's non-verbal, but I always knew he'd say he wants me to be as happy as possible, and to live as full a life as I could. That's the kind of mom he wanted, not the one wailing hopelessly in a chair. So, I began to move forward beyond the grief, and never looked back. I took some flack for that from my first husband, since happiness and acceptance were viewed as "giving up", but I kept soaring upward despite it all. Lee wanted me to, and I knew that because I knew his soul so intimately.
Lee has been a catalyst for growth and change in so many ways. He's given me wings. Now that he's 18, it's time to nudge my baby bird out of the nest, even though he's still still dependent on us for a lot. He will always need in-home support and supervision. But he's joyful and happy about his move, and he'll get more 'round the clock attention in his new place. We'll be able to visit any time, and we'll have him home often for overnight stays. He'll be almost an hour away, which is really pushing things for me as a mom. I will have to resist calling the home every fifteen minutes, wondering if he's being hydrated enough, keeping the schedule he needs, if he's happy or yelling, lonely or overstimulated, etc. I've been in high-gear intense caregiver mode since the day he was born. Even though he's the age of a college student, on some level it feels unnatural because he is still so infantile. My baby is going away so that others can take care of him. My baby!
I lie awake at night, thinking of what Lee's absence will feel like, and I can't even imagine it. I try, but it just isn't possible. He's been the center of our lives- for me it's been almost 19 years, and for my husband it's been 14 years. We both cry easily these days, just thinking about the days we won't be seeing Lee's smile. It truly lights up my day every time he smiles because it's not just something you see, you feel it. His warmth and sincerity, intense joy and purity, along with the deep affection I know he has for me. How to live without that, I am clueless. But he has his own life- his own experiences he's meant to have separate from me, even if he's totally dependent upon others to meet his needs. Like any young adult, he needs to spread his own wings, and feel his own sense of place separate from his parents. Just like when he was small, and I tried to put myself in his shoes about what he'd want for me, I know he'd want this for himself, and that gives me comfort. He'd say, "Mom, you've done your job and you've done great. It's time for me to have my own place where I can grow and meet new people, and have new experiences of my own." He was so happy while visiting the group home this week, he was squealing and doing his version of the happy-dance. It's really a beautiful home with some great staff. When asked if he wanted to live there, he immediately signed "Yes" (knows a few signs) accompanied by that huge, gorgeous smile we all love. God help me.. I have a feeling all this won't hit me until after he's out of the house in just five days. It's a major year of transitions here, and I'm holding onto my britches!
You write so well from the heart. I feel your concern, your pain. Most of all your love. Autism is so hard to live with. My autistic (Asperger's) son is now 35 years old. We adopted him when he was four. He wasn't diagnosed until he was 24 years old. Twenty years of frustration for him and us. He now lives on his own in a supervised living situation, his own apartment, but he is checked on once a week by Dept. of Human Services. It is so sad. He is very alone. He doesn't have the services your son has. He doesn't work. He doesn't have social connections your son will have. But we cannot solve all the problems. We love him. And he knows that. But as an adult at the age of 34, he also has to be allowed to live and make his own decisions....Love is so hard sometimes. Blessings to you and your family. I'm looking forward to reading more of your writings.
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