Different, not less

Last year was a pretty bumpy year. Josh was basically living and breathing school and work and I was taking care of everything at home and going to school on top of all of it. Last year, came the answer that we as a family had been waiting for. Gavin had been tested by doctor after doctor and we finally got the answer we knew all along. Gavin has Autism. I wasn't really surprised, I just knew that whatever Autism was I needed to learn about it. I started taking a Early Childhood Development class at MCC and had the most amazing learning experience. I was amongst parents and future teachers who either wanted to teach special education or had children, like me, and wanted to learn more about their kids diagnoses. I think every class I cried because of how accepted I felt. These people were what I needed, I belonged in that classroom and I loved every minute. The first thing I learned was simple, that children were not their diagnoses. They were kids first and the diagnosis is just what they had. That struck me because over the year I had been told by the state and doctors that my son needed a label and I was so overwhelmed that my son would only be known as his label. I felt like my sweet boy was from this day on a label and no one would know who he was. He would be just another statistic another kid passing through the system. My heart was left in pieces because I felt helpless to do anything for my son. I cried and cried for days, in the shower so Josh wouldn't hear me, in my bedroom after the kids went to bed and sometimes in my car. I was a wreck. It wasn't until that very first day of class when I heard my teacher say over and over that these amazing kids were kids not their diagnosis. It was a sense of relief and after that first day of class I sat in the parking lot and cried because my son wasn't Autistic, he had Autism, he was Gavin, my sweet and wonderful little boy. That was the day I accepted his diagnosis. I accepted that there was no cure for it and him having Autism didn't make a difference to me. He's my son and I love him. The semester went on and I literally could feel my brain soak up every word that was taught. I had the opportunity to be in a classroom with children who had Autism and they are literally amazing kids. I had hope that my son would be able to talk and I could communicate with him. I had hope that he would be able to go to school and make friends. All of these kids were so different and so loving and so amazingly talented. I felt so good being there and observing and playing and teaching them. It was so fulfilling that my son although different, wasn't any less. My daughter has been amazingly patient and I often wondered why she has this larger than life personality in this little body and now I know its because she was sent to me. She may only be 3 but she has been an amazing example of patience and compassion. There are days when Gavin isn't having such a great day because I'm not able to understand him or vice versa and Devan will always tell me "Mom, he's fine" or "Mom its ok." Little things like that remind me that I do need to be patient and some days are a lot harder than others. These kids are such a blessing and I can't imagine my life without them. I talked to my teacher a lot after and before class about my son and she gave me her only poem and I've treasured it ever since. Please read it and understand what its like for a parent who has a child with a disability. WELCOME TO HOLLAND by Emily Perl Kingsley I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...... When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy." But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss. But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.