You are here: Home / Autism

Anticipating the Unexpected

June 17, 2013 By 1 Comment

The funny thing is, Jacob–of all people–was the one God gave the special promise to, the same promise he had given his grandfather Abraham: “I will rescue the world through your family.” (But then God chooses people we least expect, as we’ll see.)

-Sally Lloyd-Jones, The Jesus Storybook Bible

When reading to Jude a few nights ago, I smiled as my eyes came across these words. From Genesis to Revelation, God establishes a consistent pattern: He chooses the unexpected. He chose wily Jacob to father a nation. He chose an insignificant and idolatrous nation, Israel, to be his people. He chose David, the runt who was forgotten even by his own father, to be king over Israel. He chose fishermen and a tax collector to establish his church. He chose us–the foolish, weak, and lowly–to be his people indwelled by his Spirit and proclaiming his truth in this world (1 Cor 1:26-29).

God uses “things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor 1:28-29). God magnifies his glory by using the unexpected.

To be honest, sometimes when I look at my little four-year old boy with autism, I grow afraid for what the future holds for him. But then fear gives way to prayer as I lean upon the unchanging character of God. I do not know how God will use my little boy in his lifetime, but I do know that God delights in choosing people we least expect. So I pray that he will–that he will make Jude into a man who knows Jesus passionately and makes Jesus known fervently. I anticipate God doing the unexpected. Do you?

Joshua

Contact: joshua@chosenfamilies.org

Filed Under: Autism, Trust

It was just a Facebook post…

June 15, 2013 By 1 Comment

… but the words I wrote there keep coming back at me.

 

Never thought about this passage before with these words substituted, as a “concerned” mom sending her son with autism to college in Aug:

“And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, He will certainly care for Dan. Why do you have so little faith? So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will he eat? What will he drink? What will he wear?’  These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all Dan’s needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and He will give Dan everything he needs. So don’t worry about August, for August will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”   Jesus, in Matthew 6:30-34

 

We are now on the “other side” of high school graduation by just a few days, and I got through the ceremony without a meltdown! Our speaker (Peter Overby of NPR fame) said, “Be in the moment,” and I wanted to listen, tune in and absorb every speech. I wanted to enjoy the music and being surrounded by friends and family, instead of being preoccupied by my own emotions.

 

The personalization of the above scripture helped center me and distance me from my worries. I could savor the event, the milestone, the awe of his accomplishment, without a hint of angst. I’m keeping this one close to my heart. God knows I need it.

Before diploma

 

(Beacon College-bound) Danz proud mom, Peggy

Contact: Peggy@chosenfamilies.org

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Anxiety, Autism, Bible, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

Hair

June 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment

hair productsIt is that most personal of expressions, that which both makes an entrance and leaves an impression. Aisles of products stretch outward from the hub of our local SuperWalmart; products like conditioner, shampoo, gel, mousse, piecing paste (whatever that is), hairbrushes, elastics, combs. Our own family illustrates the variability of hair. My husband has lost some of his; it ebbs backward from his forehead in the exact same pattern his father’s once did. My daughter’s is as fine as her mother’s, and just as challenging to style. She recently requested a blunt bob which is just one pouncing kitty short of YouTube cute. Jesse’s is fine, too, but with a gritty coarseness that might be its natural texture. It might also be the fine layer of dirt I can’t wash out.

Today, I buried my nose in Noah’s hair. Noah’s hair is thick and wiry, like the coat of a beaver. It is the kind of hair that will one day usher him into the ranks of the hair elite, those for whom male pattern baldness is unfamiliar territory. My father has this kind of hair – salt and pepper, sea-captain thick with a natural wave that he manages to make more awesome by the occasional running of his fingers through it. Though he is oblivious to it, other men hate him for this hair. This is understandable. At 63, hair like his shouldn’t be long enough to tie into a pony tail, it shouldn’t be wisping out under the brim of his ballcap in perfect grayish waves. It should be lying flat and frail under the weight of a wet comb over, shellacked with drug-store gel, or shaved off entirely to spare the wearer the indignity of trying to fake a head of hair when everyone knows he’s pretty much bald. Come to think of it, he has better hair than me. It’s disgusting, really.

We were sitting in the lobby of a Quest diagnostics lab this morning, Noah and I. As required by the blood draw guidelines, Noah had gone some 14 hours without eating, but that wasn’t the only thing making him woozy. Our neurologist, after reviewing our storied family health history (one that includes bi-polar disorder, apraxia, autism, ADHD, cancer, cancer, heart disease, cancer, cancer, diabetes, Behcet’s Disease and cancer), decided that genetic testing might prove beneficial. He’d barely gotten out the words before I was calling the lab to make an appointment, offering my son up like some sacrificial guinea pig. It seemed the thing to do. Our chromosomes are so dirty, they should come with an NC-17 rating.

The first lab had expired tubes – ones that were needed for some of the more exotic blood work. We headed to the next. The waiting room was overrun. We weren’t called for some time, and then after an hour, when a room finally opened, Noah was sitting in the draw chair shaking like a leaf, the hands pressed up against his closed eyes were a mottled purple. Because, after all, this is exactly what a kid with autism needs – to be told he’s going to get a needle and then to draw it out for as looooooooooong as possible. I bent down to kiss his head, and breathed deep of the dusty, “stuffed animal” smell his hair emits, that combination of little-boy, French-fry, sweaty clothes, ivory soap and roguery that I just adore. When I looked up, I saw a man of a certain age pass by, pompadour of hair coated in an unnatural, toneless black and sprayed into obedience. Behind him shuffled a wisp of a woman with a sweater around her shoulders, though the temperature outside was well into the 80’s. Her face was taut with the burden of steroids, but the rest of her was fragile and spindly as porcelain. Her hair was as toneless as her husband’s, but seemed unsteady on her head. I realized then it was a wig, and wondered for what cancer she’d been undergoing chemo. This would have been one of those “routine” blood draws to determine how much more toxicity her body could bear in an effort to destroy an unseen enemy. I wondered how much time she’d been told she had.

Two hours in a lab no longer seemed a long time to wait.

I looked down at Noah, bouncing his knees, asking me if I could pinch his arm and show him what the needle was going to feel like so he could be prepared. I thought of the metabolic disorders Dr. Rubenstein was digging for – Diabetes, Hemachromatosis, Wilson’s Disease. I gently pinched a little fold of skin in the crook of Noah’s arm. His eyes lit up, “That’s it?”

“Yep, pretty much. Do you want me to dance the Charleston?” I crossed my eyes at him.

He burst out laughing, which was exactly the point.

And before he knew it – 9 vials of blood, a phone call to the hospital and a few codes confirmed in a resource book later – it was over. I walked out into the pouring rain and put my arm around Noah, who held his bandaged arm out like it was a purple heart. I stuck my nose in that thick hair again, and thanked God for every one of our hairy days.

- Sarah

Contact: Sarah@chosenfamilies.org

Filed Under: ancestors, Anxiety, Asperger, Autism, Blessing, Emotions, Extended family, Family, Uncategorized

Lost in Translation

June 4, 2013 By 4 Comments

This week I had an uncharacteristic “panic attack.” Not in the clinical sense, but in the “I’m on the verge of worry-tears any second now” sense.

I have a no-nonsense, bottom-line, cut-to-the-chase personality. A little abrupt at times, which served me well as a Naval officer, but parenting a child with autism? Not so much.

I’m not prone to excess emotion, but not cold either. Some really neat people like me, and I take great comfort in that. I love apologetics. I’m not a wringing-of-the-hands worry-wart. But my SON, our one-and-only child, is graduating from high school a week from Wednesday. And after a one-hour choir practice of singing God’s praises and affirming His sovereignty (“Who holds the winds in His hands? Have you not heard? Do you not know?”), I found myself shaky and nervous and downright worried in the church parking lot.

Being the analytical sort, I asked myself, “Peggy, where is this coming from?” And it took me awhile to figure it out. NOT that he’s moving from DC to Beacon College in FL. Not the empty nest thing …. Could it be a loss of control thing? Am I a control-freak in lamb’s clothing? Casting about, I recalled the story hubby told me the day before that I think was the root of my almost-tears.

Dan had a technology assist visit with the VA Department of Rehabilitative Services to be introduced to apps he could use on his iPhone and iPad to keep him organized in college. This was a good thing! They had contacted Dan directly, and we advised him how to reply and when to set up the appointment. So naturally, Jim dropped him off for a one-on-one session. It was scheduled to last 90 minutes, and Dan was supposed to call his dad when he was finished. Jim got the call in 30 minutes. Bad sign. And the DRS advisor was waiting to talk to him.

Dan would not cooperate. He kept coming up with reasons why he did not want the apps. He didn’t need an electronic schedule, he always used a printed agenda in high school. He had told her the apps might be too expensive, but refused even the free ones. She was gentle and persistent, but he was adamant, and NOTHING was accomplished. Unable to make any headway at the scene, Jim talked Dan through it on the way home, and it turned out Dan was worried about the apps taking up too much room on his device that would limit the number of movies he could download! If Jim had been in on the session, he could have sussed this out of him on the spot, but Dan couldn’t communicate his concerns directly to the counselor. Jim needed to be there to TRANSLATE – we speak his language – but we’re not going to be “there” anymore. And I started to splash around in worry. How many misunderstandings will there be? How will he be able to communicate? Then I guilt-tripped that I was sinning by worrying!

I don’t know if I’m over this yet; after all, graduation is looming ever closer. It helped a little just to identify the source of my worry. And I DO know Who holds the winds in His hands. And a dear friend’s words keep reverberating in my head (words written by Emily Colson who got them from a dear friend): “Peggy, God speaks Dan’s language.” And, oh my soul, He’s the BEST translator.

 

~ Danz Mom, Peggy

Filed Under: Anxiety, Autism, Trust, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

Costume Change

May 30, 2013 By Leave a Comment

On the day I was married, my mother doled out plenty of marital counsel. She’d have done just as well to summarize marriage thusly: “My child, there will be laundry. So much laundry.”

On any given week, I wash ten loads of laundry. More, if the sheets need to be done. More still, if Noah has led our children on the charge of “let’s have an adventure!” which inevitably means they’ve snuck down to the creek in search of the property’s dirtiest, wettest spot so they can bathe in it like natives. Country living is good for the soul. But it’s torture on your power bill.

All in a day's work.

All in a day’s work.

And then, there’s Noah himself, who performs more daily costume changes than Liza Minnelli at the Garden. Every child with autism is different. Each of their quirks is unique. For Noah, clothing is a major issue. Of pre-eminent concern is comfort. Many children with ASD have sensory issues, and for some, the least obtrusive clothing label can feel like a pad of steel wool against their skin. These items of clothing are worn for brief periods of time, and then Noah “discards” them in the laundry. Or, it can be that Noah decides the yellow tee shirt he put on didn’t look as hip as he’d hoped. This one is tried on in the full-length closet mirror and then thrown under his bed. And as all-boy, dirty-toenailed, hayloft clambering as he is, he REFUSES to wear a pair of pj’s more than once, considering it repugnant. I’ve tried laying them back out on his bed after he gets dressed, sneaking them back into his drawer, putting them on top of his towel before he gets into the shower. Nothing works. And this doesn’t even count the nights when he is too hot (change of pj’s – rather than simply kicking off the covers), or too cold (layer on every single pj he has, only to dump all of them in the laundry the next morning). If I had to estimate, I’d probably say 6 of the 10 loads I wash each week are Noah’s alone.

Like every appropriate behavior sought for our children, there is only so much doing, telling, showing, cajoling and begging we parents can do. Such is every parent’s fate, I suppose. In the end, Noah’s quirks with clothing are his, alone. So I have to be content to bite my bottom lip, and count the days until Noah’s old enough to remember where in the machine the detergent goes.

- Sarah

Contact: Sarah@chosenfamilies.org

Filed Under: Asperger, Autism, balance, Challenge, Parenting, Uncategorized, work Tagged With: , ,

Seeing Red

May 16, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Jesse has an infatuation with firefighters. And, for that matter, fire trucks, fire engines, and firehouses.

Not unusual, you say? Little boys love firefighters, policemen, army men, you add? True. So, let me elaborate a bit.

He’s had 2 fire-themed birthday parties, dressed as a firefighter for 3 consecutive Halloweens, owns 4 fire fighter costumes, 1 fire fighter umbrella and raincoat set, 4 model fire house sets, 22 fire engines and 31 firefighter figurines of various size. Each day, he methodically lays out his firefighter costume, invites me into his “fire house” and shows me his gear before suiting up. We have made no fewer than 6 impromptu stops at fire stations we’ve passed on our journeys, and have waylaid something like 10 firefighters from their very real duties in order that Jesse might sit on one of the engines, wear a helmet, or ask “where is your black and white fire dog?” (He’s been often disappointed to learn that Dalmatians are mostly relics of a by-gone firefighting age. If he sees a Dalmatian in his firefighter story book, he LITERALLY expects to see one at the fire house. That literal nature? Yep, that’s ASD.) There are even firefighter coloring books, firefighter pajamas, firefighter DVDs. For a period of time, all Jesse would watch on television was a 1987 firefighter training video we were able to stream through Netflix. He could recite it word for word. It started out as cute. Sometime after viewing 15, it got downright annoying. He had all of us, and PARTICULARLY his older, emotionally labile brother Noah with ASD himself, seeing red.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, a restricted or limited interest (one that plays out in real life more like an obsession) is one of the hallmarks of an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). These are kids who know every Star Wars character ever introduced, or who can name every dinosaur that ever trod the earth. But I was surprised to discover recently that the MORE restricted the interest, the HIGHER the anxiety – that the latter often incites the former. http://ultimateautismguide.com/2011/06/autism-news-anxiety-restricted-interests/  And, with anxiety being the defining emotion of Asperger’s and other ASD’s, it goes to reason that these kids are destined to experience both – some, more intensely than others. I thought Noah was one for restricted interests, but my sweet Jesse has shown the capability to outpace him red engine for red engine.

This morning, I walked into Jesse’s room and found yet another pile of engines and figures to be re-shelved:

Just a small selection.

But this time, instead of seeing the mess, I HEARD what he was saying. So I sat down.

“Can I visit your fire station?”

He grinned, freckles and dimples squinched up. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

Then I asked Jesse why he liked firefighters so much.

“Because.”

“’Because’ is not really an answer, Jesse. Why do you like them more than anything else?”

“Because they put out fires and save people.”

They “save people.” I exhaled, and squeezed my arms around him. I will do what I can, with God’s help, to make him feel safe and ease his worried mind.

And in the meantime, I suppose there are worse things he could be interested in.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Anxiety, Asperger, Autism, Change, Family, growth, siblings, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

WWDD?

April 29, 2013 By Leave a Comment

I’m 57, and I aspire to be more like my son Dan (18, autism).

Over the years, I have remarked frequently on how long it took hubby Jim and I to teach him step-by-baby-step how to tie shoes, brush teeth, shower independently, shave and do his own laundry, etc. But once he got it, he had it. Most often, we had to begin by telling him 4 months in advance of when we were going to start something. “Dan, in 4 months, on your 18th birthday, you are going to start shaving every day like a man. Daddy has to do it every day, and so will you.” “Dan, what are you going to every day starting on your 18th birthday?” “Dan, tomorrow’s your birthday, what are you going to start doing every day?” By then he had heard it so many times, he was resigned to it. And we never had to say another word about it except “you missed a spot.”

But I hadn’t realized how entrenched he was about this until recently when he got all 4 wisdom teeth extracted (general anesthesia of course), and he got up the next morning and shaved! Because that’s what you do. That’s what you’re supposed to do.

He is not plagued, like I am, by whether or not he feels like doing something. He does what he does because. Because you do what you’re supposed to do. I’ve decided this is something he could teach me – that being like him in this way could improve my life and my character. I’ve been asking myself, particularly when faced with the option of doing a chore I don’t feel like doing:

What Would Dan Do?

Now, right now, I’m not doing it, because it is 10:24 PM, and if I was doing what Dan does, I would have been in bed at 10  :-)   But a couple of nights ago when I was really tired and didn’t feel like taking 2 lousy minutes to brush my teeth before bed, I asked myself the WWDD question, and I brushed them anyway. Last night there were dishes in the sink and it was late. And I wondered: if it was Dan’s job to do the dishes before bed, would he let them sit there? No he wouldn’t. He would wash them, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Tonight I was tempted to leave folded laundry on top of the dryer and take care of it tomorrow. Dan doesn’t do that with his laundry. He takes care of it right away. So now you are on to me that I am a closet slug!

But the point is, I’m thinking about him, and what he is like, and what I admire about him, and trying to be like him.

And that’s a good thing.

~ Danz mom, Peggy

 Contact: Peggy@chosenfamilies.org

Filed Under: Autism, Uncategorized

Organization and ASD

April 22, 2013 By Leave a Comment

lightbulbI just got back from an informative weekend conference on Autism. I heard from many experts on many subjects. One of the experts that I appreciated the most – kids with autism. There were some children who chose to attend the conference themselves, most between the ages of 10-22. I heard from these kids when I attended a breakout where they had the opportunity to introduce themselves and talk about a time when they had the opportunity to be a self-advocate. If they didn’t know what that was yet, they took a pass and then the rest of the session was spent talking about what that meant. I also got to hear three kids ages 10, 13 and 14 present during a breakout called Talking About My Autism. I was touched by so many of the things they said. For the purposes of this specific post I will narrow in on one girl, age 14, and one of her comments in particular:

“Organization is hard for me. When I was little I’d dump out my toys and then I’d be too overwhelmed to clean them up.”

Wow, this is my son! Light bulb… over my head! Ding ding ding! You know, I’d heard this before – that organization is hard for kids on the spectrum. But you kind of undermine that when they are still young (my son is 8 now). When I think about organization in terms of children I think about their schoolwork, getting it home each day, remembering to return it, library books, keeping track of mittens and hats and boots at school, and so on. And let’s be honest, the requirement for organization is much less enforced when they are young.

When she related organization to her toys and how she gets overwhelmed when she has to clean up, I was really surprised. Sometimes us expert moms – we just really need an expert kid to set us straight! =) My Owen shuts down when he has to clean up his room, he cannot break that job down into parts. When I look at his messy room I think ‘no big deal – this is doable’. Start with all legos, then do your books, then throw away papers, then pick up crayons, and so on. But he just sees something all together different and he becomes paralyzed.

And he often plays differently than his siblings – I find that he’ll take toys out and use the parts to create things (mazes, games, a BIG mess!). I’m going to head into this next summer with a different outlook – keeping in mind how Owen plays differently (because that can sometimes be the start of some neighborhood and sibling squabbles). I’m also going to keep in mind Owen’s struggles with cleaning up and I am going to use whatever strategies are necessary to make that easier for him – visual schedules, checklists, etc.

I highly encourage you to take the time to attend trainings or conferences from time to time. Once a year really would be very beneficial to our children. When their major support systems are refreshed, reminded how their children process their world, and taught or sometimes re-taught the strategies and tools that can help them to be successful – our children are that much more able to flourish!

Kara

 

 

(Image courtesy of Soilbedust/FreeDigitalPhotos.com)

Filed Under: Autism, Uncategorized Tagged With:

5 Lessons from My Son with Autism

April 15, 2013 By 1 Comment

Autism Awareness Month causes those of us in the autism way to reflect on the uniqueness of our journey. Here are five invaluable lessons that my son Jude has taught me:

1. Being an autism parent is hard, but it’s not that hard.

God has given autism parents a special burden to carry. It is a hard road to walk. We spend months, even years, mourning the loss of our expectations after a diagnosis. But at some point we need to stop throwing our pity parties and realize that it isn’t that hard. We parent kids who have unique gifts and unique modes of intelligence. Sure life in the Hutchens house is hard. Nonetheless, you cannot quantify the abundance of joy Jude brings to our home. Joy outweighs sorrow, and the sorrows accentuate the joys by their contrast.

2. We communicate more than we say.

Every instructor in public speaking cites the well-worn line that 90% of communication is non-verbal. However, I never appreciated that until I had a non-verbal child. Jude says so much without ever saying a word. His smile when seeing you says “I love you” with one-million exclamation marks. The concentration on his face while playing with his VeggieTales toys communicates a fierce enjoyment of life. What we say with our words means much less than what we say with our lives.

3. Righteousness often doesn’t feel very righteous.

We used to live down the road from a monastery. The men there abandoned earthly-pursuits in order to live a life of righteous devotion to God. However, I tend to think that true righteousness cannot exist in separation from the world and genuine human relationships. Living a righteous life feels more mundane than it does sacred. Sometimes people comment about how much they have learned from our example of lovingkindness and patient forbearance with Jude. Truth be told, in public with my family, I often feel frazzled and on-edge. How God communicates his love and patience through me at such times, I don’t know, but he seems to do it. When righteousness shines through mundane lives, God gets the glory.

4. We need to be honest about our ambitions for our children.

We all know the parents who treat tee-ball like it is the seventh game of the World Series. Such parents are attempting to re-live their glory days through their kids. But let’s be honest. We all do the same thing in whatever area we value. I’m a learner, reader, and speaker. Before autism, I dreamed of giving my children an education full of language learning and the classics. After autism, I had to ask the question, “How much of those ambitions were about me?” We must be careful to make loving God and loving neighbor our highest desire for our children.

5. Every life reflects the image of God.

Disabled is not defective. Unfortunately, due to the technology of prenatal testing, countless disabled children today are never given the chance to live. Why? Because expecting parents see their unborn child’s disability as a defect. Parenting such a child might as well be a death sentence, the end of life as they pictured it. Certainly, a diagnosis like autism or Down syndrome will shatter your expectations. However, every gift from God is good and perfect (Jas 1:17). While Jude may have a disorder and while he may qualify as disabled, he is in no way defective. Take one look in his eyes and you will see the signature of his Creator. I cannot communicate how fortunate I am to father a child over whom God has spoken, “Mine!,” and in whom God has embedded his own image.

Thank you, Jude, for all you have taught and all you are teaching your daddy.

(Joshua)

 

Filed Under: Autism, Uncategorized Tagged With:

Autism Awareness Month

April 10, 2013 By Leave a Comment

April is Autism awareness month. The general public’s knowledge of the existence of autism is definitely on the rise as is the knowledge of ASD among those that we meet.

When my son was first diagnosed with Aspergers (in 3rd Grade), the most that I knew about autism was what I had learned from the movie Rainman. I was surprised that my bright, spunky son would be diagnosed with a disorder like autism. I had to do a lot of research and reading to confirm the diagnosis in my own mind. For several years after his diagnosis, most of the people that we mentioned it to had never heard of Aspergers. We often kept it quiet (in general conversation) to avoid the lengthy explanations that would follow our declaration that our son Daniel had received this diagnosis.

Now, however, 7 years later, we mention that Daniel has Aspergers and, most of the time, the response in conversation sounds something like one of these: oh, my grandson has Aspergers, we have a child in our church with Autism, my son has that too, one of my students has been diagnosed with Aspergers. Our general experience matches the growing numbers released by the CDC to the media (1 in 50 children are on the autism spectrum).

There are now so many families dealing with the challenges of having a child who struggles in this area. As a result, our understanding and compassion for one another should be increasing, our educational resources should be more available, and the futures for this growing segment of our population should be brighter, right? Well, for the most part, they are not. There are still so many misunderstandings out there. The educational resources are still limited and potential employers willing to hire our quirky loved ones are still hard to find.

Yesterday, I was talking to an employee at my dental office about her daughter heading off to college next year. She knew that I have a son close to that age and asked what we were thinking about for his future – what college and what major. I responded that he probably wouldn’t go to college right away but would seek training for a trade of some sort. I told her he had Aspergers and several learning disabilities and that traditional school was very hard for him so we homeschooled. His current career idea is something like an x-ray technician. She responded that maybe he could do a job like the person who walks you back to get your x-rays. She then asked if he could do that kind of job, if he could follow simple directions. Wow. I had no response to that and wouldn’t have known how to respond even if she hadn’t put the dental instrument back in my mouth at that point. My motherly defenses went up and my mind spun with the thoughts of how bright and funny and smart my son is and how little this person obviously knew about Aspergers. (The funny thing is that she has met Daniel and even done his teeth before). She had many misconceptions and misunderstandings about Aspergers and about my son. Maybe having a month like Autism Awareness Month will help get the word out there, dispel misunderstandings, and the understanding and compassion in our culture will grow.

The important thing is that we, as individuals and as a society, learn and remember how different each one of us is from the others, that people with Autism and Aspergers don’t fit in the exact same mold as one another, and that each of our differences contribute to a better whole, a better society. Each person, whether they have Down’s Syndrome, Autism, OCD, or any other label, has a purpose and value in our society. Our box is going to have to get bigger and have a flexible shape because our kids don’t fit inside a traditional box any more. Our knowledge and acceptance of (and resources for) our kids is going to have to grow.

I pray that I can be a part of that and that my son can be a part of showing the world how amazing and special people with this diagnosis can be. I also pray that I can be compassionate and understanding to those who hold these misunderstandings and that I can help show them and teach them about the value of the people that God has made.

Brooke

Filed Under: Asperger, Autism, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,
« Older Posts