AUTISM

The photo is my oldest grandson, Dean, playing in the water during an unseasonably warm day November 2. He was lost in a moment of city-boy bliss as he was able to drink from the waterhose and spray himself without fear of getting in trouble while visiting us in the great piney woods of east Texas. For my autistic grandson...it's a really big deal. I am learning a lot about autism as the years go by, but mostly I am learning about myself...and how impatient I can become when extra effort is required. It's not a side of me that I am proud of, yet, God saw fit to send me a double dose with two autistic grandsons. I guess He thought I needed a double dose of work on my character.
I am really proud of my family...my husband, son, and daughter...they all rise to the occasion and help with chasing, discipline, and entertainment. My daughter has the greatest burden of all, being the sole support of her family and the one who provides the lion's share of nurturing and tenderness for both boys. I cannot take any credit for her being the way she is, even though I raised her from "a piece of lint", as we jokingly say in our family. She has always had that gift of caring for others less fortunate. She is a beautiful mommie.
After they left I wrote this poem that expresses what I feel when they visit. It's a huge mix of emotions and confused feelings, but I suppose I'm not the only grandparent who's experienced this with special needs kids.

"AT TIMES"

I cannot say I am happy
about autism,
a word that is labeled
to my two oldest grandsons.
I cannot say that I am joyfully
accepting their quirks,
special needs, and chaos
that seems to push them
faster and farther
than I can run.
I cannot say that I am not frustrated,
tired, and angry
when trying to reason with
tantrums, outbursts, and screaming fits.
I just want to turn and hide.

But,
I can say that small improvements are huge
and cause us to rejoice.
I can see that there are timely moments
when one comes up and kisses me
when I least deserve it.
I can say that I love
my two little autistic boys
even when they’re not lovable,
for after all,
I’ve not been too lovable either,
at times.


Claudia Lowery
November 2, 2008

COMMENTS:

Fielding J. Hurst said...
"Beautiful poem, can I post it on my blog if I credit you and link to you, pretty please? I am an autism parent in awe of autism grandparents who rise to the occasion..."

"Absolutely yes! Thanks for your Comment and compliment. Hopefully others will see and share in this, too. Just add the credit and link. Again, thanks!" Claudia Lowery

"wow, Claudia. I did not know that you had grandchildren with autism. My younger sister has autism so I can completly empathize with those feelings. You may have heard this before, but I love this little poem called "Welcome to Holland."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."

Emily Perl Kingsley