The Invitation

A special treat: this post was written by my wife.

It’s an invitation to play.

C offers me one of two cars he has in his hands. “Mommy plays black car." Black car and red car cruise along the banister and crash!

We smile and do it again.

A day later, C comes up to me with two boats, one green, one orange. He hands me the orange one. "Mommy’s boat.” It takes me a second because I’m not used to this. I’m on the phone. I hang up and we sail our boats around the coffee table.

Then it hits me: orange is my favorite color. We talk about favorite colors.

I am suddenly aware of how far C has come: less that a year ago, he just pushed vehicles back and forth; today we’re pretending to sail boats at the beach.

Our interactions are short and simple, but they happen. They are less impressive — but far more important — than memorized lists of spelled words and counting backward.

C wants to play with his Mommy, he laughs with Daddy. He asks to get into M's crib and sit with him. Last night C couldn’t sleep so he came into our bed. We stared at each other for a long time. This is also new.

I said, “I love you more than one hundred, C.” He smiled.

Today at lunch we sat across the table from each other, just the two of us.

He mumbled, “Mommy I love you more than one hundred.” I jumped in with an eager, "Well I love you more than two hundred! More than three hundred!“

He was impressed. There was a long pause.

“I love Mommy more than four hundred.”

This kid keeps upping the ante.

And he keeps winning.

A Major Setback for Autism Research

"A freezer malfunction at a Harvard-affiliated hospital has damaged a third of the world's largest donated brain tissue for autism research."

In addition to the apparently senseless loss of invaluable donated research material, scientists estimate this could set autism research back a decade.

Read the entire article here.

My thoughts: I have a hard time accepting this may have been an accident; with so many safety measure in place, it seems difficult to believe they could have all failed simultaneously. Nonetheless, if it's not foul play then it's surely gross negligence.

Time is our enemy in the autism battle, and we've already wasted a decade on the debunked (and fraudulent) vaccination link. While none of us wants to think about our own mortality, this story reinforces the dire need for organ donations. Learn more here.

The Weekend in Three Pictures

The signs of autism persist — as of course they will — but we continue to delight in many of them, including C's little 'arrangements.'

Unlike his twin, C doesn't find joy in a local carnival. Nonetheless, I'm grateful he knows how to cope, finding his own little island of peace and quiet even in the most overwhelming situations.

And when he's at home or somewhere else where he feels comfortable, C is one of the happiest people I've ever known.

This is an amazing journey.

Separate Ways

Today was bittersweet.

This is the last day of the twins' co-op preschool. At the end of August they go their separate ways: M will start regular preschool, and C will go to a school for children with developmental disabilities. My anxiety over the ever-widening gulf between them is beginning to feel overwhelming.

As if sensing my fear, C and M were playing like actual siblings tonight. They were near and — more importantly — seemingly aware of one another. They were playing and laughing and, at one point, C reached out and hugged M without prompting. M, instead of pushing C away, leaned into the hug and smiled.

And so I continue to learn to let go, even as I hang on.

Then and Now

Long before C's official diagnosis we knew something was amiss; there were little signs, things that didn't seem quite right. Nothing, however, that we couldn't attribute to his being a sick boy with a rare lung disease. Then, around his second birthday, we noticed what many refer to as 'regression.'

He started to disappear. His expression was vacant. He stopped saying 'hello' and 'goodbye,' 'mommy' and 'daddy.' It seemed like he was vanishing. We'd ask each other if C was even there anymore, a question I've since learned is common among ASD parents. At the time, it was frightening and depressing.

With an official diagnosis came therapy, and lots of it, sometimes 20-30 hours a week. The routine is demanding for C, and means a lot of schedule juggling for us, the burden of which falls to my wife, but the results are worth it.

C still has autism — he always will — and there remains a lot of work to do; nonetheless, we have our son back, and for that we are grateful beyond words.