Posted in Uncategorized at 9:17 am by autismmommytherapist
“Come on buddy, you can do it” says our Registered Behavior Technician in-training (RBT), as he gestures back to the picture schedule Justin is using as a visual cue to regain some lost independence skills with showering. Slowly, my son looks at him, then looks at me. He grins, then reaches for the shampoo.
Playing us, and flirting simultaneously. Bravo son.
Ten months ago I began the process with Performcare to get in-home ABA help with my then nineteen-year-old child, who had lost some daily living skills and chore proficiency since Covid. Truly, it was my fault. He had some measure of independence going into the pandemic, but teaching him during Covid and frankly just surviving that mess took a lot out of me, and I ended up doing things for him more often than I should instead of letting him do for himself. In the past his school sent BCBAs to make house calls, but that has ended since the pandemic. I have discovered at my age I am a “visual girl”, and instructions via email or zoom no longer cut it. So I bit the bullet and went through Performcare, as I did not relish trying to find an agency on my own and having to deal with insurance. Plus, we’d only ever used them for respite, and I wanted to see what they could offer me.
I enjoy options.
It ended up being a lot of work and a very intense process, but worth it. I was assigned a coordinator who made many required house and phone calls, but who immediately found an agency and initiated the entire process for me. She also simultaneously connected me with a colleague who literally walked me through the entire process for applying for the DDD for Justin, including reviewing all my documents and submitting them for me (I had to find the original document saying he had autism from Kennedy Krieger from 2004, please!), which made the entire thing worthwhile even if the ABA portion had not worked out.
But the beauty of it is, it has.
Finally, after a lengthy review by our insurance company and a search for a BCBA and an RBT, about eight months after I’d made that initial phone call I finally had both professionals in my home. The RBT comes six hours a week, the BCBA two. Justin has made great strides in his daily living skills, and we will be attempting chores next. This week our BCBA had a great zoom call with Justin’s teachers, principal, and BCBA so that they were all on the same page, and our BCBA said it was invaluable and would be very helpful in helping her determine the direction of his instruction.
I love when people work together.
The truth is I put Justin’s skills on the back burner to deal with some other pressing issues chez McCafferty, but knowing he’d age out of Performcare next year and not knowing if the DDD would help me with this process I am so glad I started this odyssey. I am always conscious of the fact that one day Justin will no longer live with us, and one day both his parents will be gone and unable to advocate for him. My goal is to make him as independent as possible both for his sense of pride and accomplishment, but mostly to make it as simple as possible to care for him.
I want his caretakers to think of him as the “easy one.”
So, if things have slipped since Covid or just recently, consider making that call. There were so many unseen benefits that outweighed the time put in, and I am so grateful I began the process.
Last night, my son did over half of the tasks required for brushing his teeth independently.
Posted in Uncategorized at 3:39 pm by autismmommytherapist
You’re turning twenty today.
I still find it impossible that you now tower over me, but at my 5’1” height, maybe that’s not such an achievement after all.
Even with your added inches, you still nestle into my right shoulder for comfort, the exact same spot you always went to as a baby and toddler.
I don’t think things have really changed that much between us since those days.
But the quality of our relationship has changed immensely.
Those early days my son, I was not at my best. Younger and with more energy (some days) yes, but so worried about you. Worried when you didn’t nurse well. Worried when you didn’t sleep. Worried that you spit up almost everything you ate. Worried that you seemed so unhappy all the time.
When you were six months old, worried about the spinning.
So much spinning.
We worked through everything together, you and I. The initial challenges of infancy and toddlerhood, then diagnosis, therapies, moving to another state, starting a school program. You eventually learned to embrace the world, were excited to go places, ate a greater repertoire of food, and to my everlasting gratitude, began to sleep.
Our relationship forged in fire, we moved on to other challenges.
Autism issues are cyclical. We had whole years of relative calm, but then some aspect of your disorder would rear its ugly head and dispel our tranquility. A few times it was aggression. Sometimes it was not wanting to leave a place, or never wanting to go there in the first place. Six years ago it manifested as terrible bodily movements and an erosion of your mostly positive personality as tic disorder came to call. Eight months of doctors’ visits in four states, and as many possible diagnoses, until we found help.
We pushed through together, and came out the other side.
Now at twenty, with one year left to go at school which I regard as the end of your childhood, you are in such a better place.
When I asked your principal if she would consider you for their adult program next year, she replied, “He is mostly compliant, happy, and likes to go places, why wouldn’t we?”
It was like you won an Oscar. Honestly, as satisfying as your little brother’s future college acceptances (hopefully) will be.
I love you Justin. I love the man you’ve become, and I treasure those moments with you where you give me the gift of gaze, and we smile and connect as we did all those decades ago when I was lost and scared, but loved you so.
Posted in Uncategorized at 12:22 pm by autismmommytherapist
FAFSA. Pell Grant. College Prep company. One hundred and thirty colleges and universities represented.
Day habilitation. Support Coordination agencies. Vocational training. Supported employment.
The two piles sit side by side on my dining room table, spoils from two almost back-to-back evenings of a college fair for my mildly autistic son, Zach, and a transitional fair for my profoundly affected one, Justin.
Both piles have colorful brochures, are as yet haphazardly thrown together (these things are exhausting), and are voluminous.
One pile, the one from the transition fair, has chocolate. It is my favorite.
The first evening involved resuscitating my alphabetical order skills as I searched for undergraduate schools (my skills are lacking), and an hour long lecture regarding college financial aid which was brilliant, but overwhelming. I know I’m in over my head.
Grateful I had those kids long after everyone else did. Cue smart friends.
The second evening involved dozens of tables and a hot room, with bare bones descriptions on a piece of paper listing every entity with titles I wasn’t sure I understood until I actually talked to people, some of whom I’d tried to speak to unsuccessfully on the phone prior to that evening. So victory was had.
It doesn’t take much these days.
It turns out having your kids four years apart when one has severe special needs and is graduating at twenty-one is not the greatest idea. Literally everything of any importance to my two boys (shy of where Justin will live and who Zach might marry, two biggies) will transpire in the next two years.
The pile on my desk is pitiful.
Here, however, is the fun part, the secret I will share with all of you.
I was just as jazzed up at Justin’s transition fair as I was at Zach’s college fair.
I will admit, I viewed both as social opportunities, and I enjoy a good social opportunity whenever possible. Give me a venue where I can brag about my kid(s) get free chocolate, and perhaps make a connection, and I’m in. For Zach, I got to meet a woman who would love to meet him at her campus when we take our tour next week. And for Justin, I got acronyms and blurbs explained (woohoo!), and options for day hab and vocational training, and in-home support.
I also got ideas for pure fun that his future DDD budget just might pay for some day. Bonus knowledge.
There is a part of me that will never stop mourning all that Justin might have had, the life I am confident that his little brother will lead, with all its many options (I am an option girl).
I am profoundly okay with that.
But as the pieces come slowly together for both my boys, things crossed off lists, information acquired, I am actually excited for both their futures. I can live with the yin and yang of excitement, and sadness.
Both are valid.
And as I treat myself to a Hershey’s kiss before I dive into disentangling all my spoils, I’m okay too.
Posted in Uncategorized at 1:34 pm by autismmommytherapist
When my eldest son was an infant, he rarely slept, and if then for short periods of time.
We had such a difficult time with breastfeeding.
While there were periods where he smiled and laughed and gazed into our eyes, there were many more times when he was cranky and fussy and we felt we couldn’t reach him.
At six months he started spinning everything in sight.
I took all these concerns to his pediatrician in 2004, but was told he was hitting his milestones, and not to worry.
When he wasn’t babbling as much as I thought he should, I was told he was probably following his father’s trajectory, a boy who didn’t speak for years and then communicated in full sentences when he was three.
My gut said he was different. The doctor said he wasn’t.
Until the day we went into his office for a scrip for reflux when my boy was seventeen months old, and walked out with a bunch of articles with the word “autism” in the title and a referral to a developmental pediatrician, as we were basically shoved out the door.
It’s 2023, almost twenty years later. My advice is this.
If you have any concerns about your son’s or daughter’s development, insist on seeing a developmental pediatrician or neurologist. It will probably take at least six months to get an appointment. Make that call.
In the meantime, contact your state’s Early Intervention and get the ball rolling on that. If your child is approaching three, contact your school district and start the process. Both take months.
My point is, don’t wait. Waiting won’t change a diagnosis. But not waiting can change the outcome.
My boy got his autism diagnosis at eighteen months, which was extremely early in 2004. Within a month I got trained and delivered thirty-five hours a week of ABA, hired two therapists to deliver another five hours, and made do with Virginia’s scant services of a few hours of OT and speech a month. I was a teacher, and although I had little experience with autism I was able to pick up the concepts quickly.
I do believe that early diagnosis and early treatment made a difference. If nothing else, it taught my son how to learn. Eight months after we moved to New Jersey he started pre-school at a little over three years old, and he did well. I believe all the ABA prepared him for it.
He learned to love school. He’s only been in three, and according to his teachers has enjoyed them all. He can communicate using his iPad to get his needs and wants. He can read on a first grade level. He can type in searches to a computer.
He smiles more.
I truly believe early diagnosis made a huge difference in his life.
If you’re concerned about your son or daughter, make the calls. If your child’s pediatrician demurs, insist.
If it’s your grandchild/neighbor’s son/grandniece, say something. You don’t have to say the word “autism”, just let the child’s parent know you’re concerned.
Posted in Uncategorized at 1:10 pm by autismmommytherapist
I am not good at waiting.
When my profoundly autistic son was a baby, I started having concerns about his development when he was six months old. Despite reassurances from my relatives and from our pediatrician, I felt I was waiting to see what happened next.
A year later there was a disastrous pediatrician’s appointment, and a phone number for a developmental pediatrician. Once again, we were waiting months for that appointment, and an answer to why he was spinning everything and often unhappy, but still deeply, irrevocably attached to us.
While anticipating the developmental pediatrician’s appointment we were waiting for Virginia’s scant Early Intervention services to start. Then we were waiting for our in-home ABA help from a local BCBA.
Then we were waiting to see if any of it would make any difference.
I felt like all I did that next fifteen months before we moved was wait. Wait to see if therapy helped. Wait to see if the local school program was appropriate for him (it wasn’t). Wait to see if my husband’s company would let him move to New Jersey and go remote so we could provide our son with better therapy and education (they did). Wait to see if he would talk.
Wait, wait, wait.
I would like to tell you that I was able to put a lot of this waiting on a shelf, remain fairly present, and go on with my life.
I didn’t.
I felt like I was caught up in a chess game, and chess is not my forte. Figuring out which town to move to two hundred miles away when no district would let me see their program. Trying to anticipate the future needs of my two-year-old when it came to picking a town. Would he have true inclusion opportunities? Would they send him out of district without a fight if he needed it? Could we live fairly near relatives but still be by the beach?
If I was going to leave living near one of the most interesting cities in the world, I was at least going to score the beach for my boy.
Part of my brain was always two steps ahead.
Okay, most of my brain was always two steps ahead.
I’m better about the planning now, as we have (we hope) a pretty good idea of what Justin’s life trajectory will be as he is nearly twenty. There are the concerns about what his adult program will look like, but I have a pretty good idea of where he’ll go. I’m trying to start a residential setting with a group of like-minded friends with profoundly autistic sons, so I’ve got a potential plan for where he’ll reside down the road. I’ve figured out his camps, his medications, and what activities he likes.
Things have settled down in a way I could never have imagined nineteen years ago. I am able to enjoy the good times we have together. My mind is not often a whirl in regards to him.
If I could go back, I’d tell myself it would all calm down. That the quests for the next therapy, scheduling said therapy, finding a school, helping him to enjoy the world more, would mostly subsist. I’d tell myself that most of the time as he entered his late teenaged years we just enjoy him, and live in the moment.
I know myself well enough I wouldn’t have believed my future self.
But I could try.
I watch my nieces and nephews navigate the world, and I feel that their generation has captured much better the concept of being present. My hope for any parents whose child has been newly diagnosed is this- that sometimes you can shelve the worries, the fears, the irritations, and just enjoy your son or daughter when you can. In truth, it took years before we knew Justin’s true level of severity, and what limits it would impose, and conversely where he would soar. My advice to anyone starting out is to have a “time-out” for just reveling in your child whenever you can.
Those are the moments you will remember.
You will be grateful to have them.
Try to carve out those moments of “presence” whenever you can.
Posted in Uncategorized at 2:24 pm by autismmommytherapist
A few months ago, my husband and I took our almost sixteen-year-old high school sophomore to look at colleges.This idea was not met with a great deal of enthusiasm.
Apparently none of his friends from his very competitive high school were looking at schools over November break (categorically not true), I was making him lose his entire vacation (half, again not true), and he would never remember the schools because he was too young.
Clearly he was forgetting his mother is a scrapbooker extraordinaire.
It ended up working out. By the end of the first day he exclaimed exuberantly that this had been a “great idea” (for the love of God teenagers, your parents are not Jon Snow, we do know something), and as the only student in roomfuls of mostly stressed-out seniors he told us after the trip he had had a great time.
Victory.
One of the reasons we took him was mostly for him to get a feel for whether he wanted a big school or small school, rural or urban, far from home or close by. We knew we had accomplished this when we visited a great school in a fabulous city and were definitively told “no way.” Such strong feelings were shared when contemplating seeing another school in the same city, with an almost-refusal to attend the tour I’d killed myself to book (technology not being my forte, and uploading Covid cards, OMG!) until I looked at him and told him it was “Hogwarts on a hill”, and was subsequently met with a great deal of enthusiasm.Yes, my son’s criteria for attending college is that it looks liked Hogwarts. Not mature enough to grasp the nuances of why we attend certain schools? Nope, pretty sure it’s just because he really liked Harry Potter back in the day.
As we continue along our college search journey I found out through his counselor at school that apparently it is a “thing” for kids to attend summer camps at colleges or universities during high school, a fact I’d frankly forgotten as my only friend who I can remember who did this with her daughter sent her fifteen years ago, and my brain no longer functions that far back. The list she sent was excellent and comprehensive, and we found a few schools that fit the bill, one of them one of the best universities in the country.I explained to Zach this would be his “reach camp.”
The school resides fairly far away, in a city he has never been to. I cautioned him the likelihood of getting in was small as it is competitive, but we should try anyway because you never know.
Damn if he didn’t get in.
As I went gleefully to share the news with my son who was ensconced in his room, I got him to open his door (another victory!) and told him about his acceptance. He said “that’s great!” and promptly shut the door again.
Give me patience.I knocked again, looked him in the eye, and said “Zach, it’s a Hogwarts school” after which I was treated to a victory dance and much more fanfare.
People, know your audience.
The dichotomy between my two sons’ life trajectories is something that has never left my consciousness, even after almost twenty years of our eldest son’s profound, non-verbal autism. They are four years apart, and as I watched Zach develop, particularly later on in his childhood, I couldn’t help but be grateful for the fact that my youngest had friends, could be left alone for five minutes, and had a stream of words so voluminous he sometimes exhausted me. The contrast between the two was a chasm so great I knew it would never be crossed.
And I’ve mostly made my peace with that.
Back in the day, it hurt. When it became apparent that Zach would have the more typical trappings of life, a partner if he wanted one, college, a career (I am determined that one of my children will eventually leave my house so I have more time on the couch watching SATC reruns) and friends, I longed for the same for my eldest son Justin.Eventually I accepted that he not only doesn’t want these things, he doesn’t know they exist. His is a world of juice (the most hydrated kid on the planet), DVDs, movies on Netflix, and driving around Monmouth County on the Hertz rent-a-car site.
Simple pleasures for a complex dude.
He is not sad about his life. And most of the time, I’m not either.
But I will tell you this. As I watch my youngest hit major milestones, and I hope he will continue, there is always a twinge of regret for the other half of my heart, and after two decades I am pretty certain it will never permanently go away.
And that my friends, despite whatever anyone may tell you, is okay.My theme for 2023 (I like to have themes) is self-care, and this message is for all parents out there struggling to reconcile their feelings about autism. My advice is this. Feel them. Feel them all. Don’t admonish yourself if those feelings aren’t “social-media worthy”. Reconcile them when you can, and move on if possible. Acknowledge that they may always be there. Know that the strength of them, the “overwhelmingness” of them, will probably fade over time, which will help you function.
Know you are not alone in these feelings, and you never will be.
Do whatever it takes to be the best, sane, healthiest version of you.
And never underestimate the power of Harry Potter.
Posted in Uncategorized at 11:23 am by autismmommytherapist
Well, 2023 is off to an interesting start…
Unfortunately my family was in a car accident on Christmas night coming home from Pennsylvania. Happily no one was hurt, but of course getting the car fixed will take months and has become one of our immediate tasks for 2023. I was injured at work a few weeks ago and am following up on that with my company, which is a lot of waiting around for things to happen. And although I started the process of getting in-home ABA help with my oldest and severely autistic son in July, we are still waiting for insurance approval to get started on assisting him with his self-help skills.
I am not good at waiting.
However, I have learned this over the years. Sometimes it is difficult not to get frustrated with all the details associated with getting help, whether it’s with a car repair or getting assistance with an autistic child. A few years ago I came up with a mantra that has served me well not only with all things autism-associated, but in life as well.
If it’s not permanent, don’t sweat it.
I’m not saying I don’t have a good rant when I’m met with “I don’t know whens,” because that is my least favorite response in the universe. I do. And then I try really hard to let it go so I can focus on what I can change.
My car will be fixed. My shoulder will heal. Eventually ABA practitioners will be in my home.
It will all happen.
The truth is, if you’re raising a profoundly autistic child, there will be many very difficult issues you will not be able to change. Despite identifying his autism and getting him into therapy at an incredibly early age for a 2003-born baby, my son will never have mastery over the spoken word. Despite getting in-home ABA help, he will never be completely independent with his self-help skills. He will always need constant supervision.
He will always be at-risk for harm. This is the one that kills me.
There are so very many complex and distressing issues surrounding profound autism that we as parents must deal with every day, that trying not to waste energy stressing about the small, temporary “stuff” is a healthy way to approach things. I’m not saying I always approach the “big things” in a healthy way, but I try. In order to function I have to compartmentalize some things, like who will love him after his father and I die, or on a lesser note, how I will survive his graduation from his beloved school in seventeen months without melting into a blubbering mess (odds are against me on that one).
I do a lot of self-care. I meditate. I limit the wine (but not the chocolate, working on that one). I know how important it is to take care of me so I can function, and thrive, for him.
So if 2023 has not begun on a positive note, try hard to figure out what’s temporary, and what’s permanent, and most importantly, how you’ll deal healthily with both. If there’s any new year’s resolution worth making it’s figuring out what you have to do for you to stay healthy emotionally, mentally, and physically.
You are the most important person in your autistic child’s life and they need you, but equally important, you deserve to be happy and healthy just for you. Do whatever it takes to find that peace.
Don’t give up.
Here’s wishing you a 2023 with those goals in mind!
Posted in Uncategorized at 10:17 am by autismmommytherapist
I am, by nature, a planner.
Over the years as my severely autistic non-verbal son has grown into manhood I am always thinking about his future, and how I can make it a safer and happier place for him. One of the obstacles I kept coming up against was that it had been at least fifteen years since he had spent the night somewhere other than his own bed without a parent sleeping in the room next to him. His father and I know he will be living in a group residence some day, and I just couldn’t let that be his first time ever sleeping without us.
For a few years I had been lobbying my husband for us to let him try sleepaway camp, and my husband was always adamantly opposed. He felt, and understandably so, that our son, who was in his late teens, would think we had abandoned him because we’d always taken him home before. I knew in my heart Justin would never think that, but couldn’t convince my husband.
Then Covid struck, and after its first year was over I knew we had to get serious and take a chance.
Both Justin’s school and I bought him calendars, and every day we’d write “school” or “home” in the big blocks. We did this for months before camp started. I also pulled out his scrapbook from three years prior and showed him pictures of him at the camp, and told him he’d be sleeping there, but that Mom would get him at the end of the week.
I had no idea if he understood anything I said, but I had to hope.
Eventually the day came to take him to camp, and we packed up all his gear for the week and went. I saw him staring at the suitcases as I put him in the car, and noticed him gently rocking back and forth in the back seat, which usually means he is excited about where we’re going. I showed him the calendar again, and pointed out the coming week, with “camp” written in most of the blocks and then “home” at the end. The counselors had promised me they would hang up the calendar next to his bed and show him every morning.
I had to have faith they would.
We got to camp, his luggage was whisked away, I registered him, and then we were told to make our goodbyes. I whispered “have fun Justin, I love you, see you Saturday,” and then he was gone.
Leaving me both replete with hope, and with a giant lump in my throat I hoped I’d eventually swallow.
I made it until the next morning before calling the camp.
One of the lovely workers got on the line, said she’d seen him in his cabin that morning and he’d seemed fine, and they would only be in touch if there was a problem.
It was my cue to relax. We never did get another call the rest of the week.
Finally, Saturday came, and I drove up in the morning to collect Justin. I parked the car, told an administrator who I was here for, and waited to see my son arrive.
Within a few minutes he walked out with his assigned camper and stopped dead in his tracks, just looking at me. I said his name softly, and he slowly shuffled forward, with just the hint of a grin on his face. He came up to me, looked me in the eyes, and laid his head on my shoulder for a moment.
Then he made a loud exclamation and headed for the car. Moment over.
His “person” told me he’d been great all week, only a minor grab or two, and best yet, he’d seemed to have fun. Before we drove off I asked Justin if he’d had fun and would like to go back next year, and he gave me his gentle nod “yes,” which was enough for me. I admit, I drove home feeling ecstatic, knowing my boy could not only tolerate but thrive in a different environment than home or school, could potentially be happy living elsewhere than his mom, dad and brother.
It was the best moment of 2022 for me, and most importantly for Justin. I am so grateful to the employees at his camp and his school for helping to make it happen.
Happy New Year to all, and may 2023 bring all of us much to be grateful for!
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:16 am by autismmommytherapist
This past weekend I watched “Charlie Brown Christmas” with my family, which is no mean feat. Corralling my husband and two teenagers, my oldest of whom is on the severe end of the spectrum, can be challenging. It’s a tradition with the McCaffertys, and eventually I prevailed. My youngest paced around the living room, my husband got up three times to check on things, and my oldest at one point put a pillow over his face, but we watched the damn show.
I’ll take victory where I can get it.
I got to thinking about Christmases past, and how what is supposed to be a joyous holiday had at times been grueling. There was the year Justin showed absolutely zero interest in any of his gifts; we couldn’t even get him to open half of them. Then there was the year I was overwhelmed by my kids’ behavior at my in-laws Christmas celebration and ended up crying, and I’m a girl who generally now only cries at Hallmark commercials and Toy Story 4. All in all, there have been some tough holidays, celebrations where at times the only thing we seemed to be celebrating was when it was over.
The truth is, chez McCafferty, we are done with that, and I am eternally grateful.
My nineteen-year-old, non-verbal, profoundly autistic son now comes happily downstairs on Christmas morning, opens everything, immediately attaches himself to one gift, and we’re thrilled. My other son still shows enthusiasm for his stash even at the ripe old age of fifteen, and for that we are grateful. For years there have been holidays with no tears, just joy.
If you had told me that would be the case ten years ago I would never have believed it.
So if you’re just starting out on your autism journey with your kid or kids, just know, it can get better even when it seems impossible that it will get better. While you’re getting through the difficult years try these strategies. Go for a shortened period of time that will get you through gift opening and a meal, skip dessert (or take it home with you) and get out. Bring your kid’s favorite foods with you and tell the host in advance whatever you’ll need to do so they can eat. Take a favorite toy with you and hide it until you see if it’s necessary to bring it out in case your child doesn’t warm to his or her presents. Tell everyone in advance you won’t be staying long so there won’t be any disappointments. Find out if there’s a quiet place your child can go in case he or she gets overwhelmed.
Find out if there’s a quiet place you can go if you get overwhelmed, and make sure wine is involved.
We all have huge expectations for the holidays. Sometimes it’s good to just bring them down a notch, and hope for a good hour or two and call it a day.
Eventually, I learned to do that. And it made for much happier holidays.
And if all else fails and it’s just miserable, hang in there and remember there’s always the chance it will be better next year. It has gotten significantly better for my family, and for many others that I know.
Posted in Uncategorized at 12:41 pm by autismmommytherapist
Three weeks ago I had the opportunity to take my son Zach, who is a sophomore in high school, to look at colleges with my husband. Prior to the trip he was decidedly unenthusiastic to say the least. Apparently none of his friends were going (not true), he would forget all the schools (also not true because his mom photographed every building), and it would take up his whole vacation.
Also not true. Only four days out of nine. My math is rusty, but that’s not even half (I think).
There are other more compelling reasons he pretty much chose to ignore, like the fact that the four days we were gone his severely autistic brother was in school, so minimal child care was necessary, or that our next NJEA break we’ll be in Disney.
I offered to take him on college tours instead that week next year. He was not amused.
At the end of the first day when we’d seen two colleges in PA (and he’d gleefully told the admissions officer at the second that her presentation had just blown away his dad’s alma mater) I asked him if this had been a good idea.
I was met with an enthusiastic “Yes, this is great!”
Victory. With a teen I will take it whenever I can get it.
I loved every minute of this tour, even when the GPS got us hopelessly lost on a mountain and I wondered if Jeff and I were still smart enough to take our son on college tours.
The jury is still out.
I loved it because I am really proud of my kid, who has conquered many obstacles, most recently breaking his hip at fifteen, losing an entire summer, and being faced with the potential of a lifetime of surgeries. I truly meant the word “victory” in the paragraph above- it felt victorious to see him walking unattended, soaking up the college life, and exuding enthusiasm for something that was previously unimaginable to him.
I also love it because for once I was solely focused on him, not his brother’s needs for the future.
Many of you who know me will not be shocked when I tell you I have a plan for Justin too, one I hope will rival what I believe will be a fabulous life trajectory for Zach. I will write more about my plans for Justin at a later date, but I realized on this trip I am excited about both boys’ futures. One who may follow a more traditional path of college, career and love, and one who will hopefully be placed in an exciting and safe residential setting, with a great day program and lots of trips to Great Adventure.
Autism Mommy-Therapist 