I’ve been holding my cellphone in a kung-fu death grip for the last 12 working days of the past weeks. We will log 30 total days. I drive downtown with my eldest son, the one diagnosed on the spectrum so many years ago, to drop him off at The Goodwill for a job-study. I was staying downtown, certain that the 20 minute drive from home would render him helpless if he had an autism meltdown or lost it over a bee in the building.
The shovel ready jobs of Obama are alive and well next to our destination. Four times daily we have to navigate across the ripped up street, around heavy construction equipment, jumping new water pipes waiting to be dropped and hooked in the trenches. Oh, and the cars along the one open lane really should consider stopping at the cross walk. If they did, the drivers wouldn’t get the fist pump motion from my son relaying in unspoken words what an “IDIOT” they are.
Can’t quite stop holding his hand. Still, so many years later, I hold his hand to cross the street. Sounds ridiculous? Not really – beats him sprinting in panic and getting creamed by one of those “IDIOTS”. Hand in mine, the opposite one in a cell phone death grip. God help us autism parents over the everyday stress we live with. God. Help. Us.
This is part of the process. The inadequate process of employing a bright young man given a disability in one quick shot in the leg. He’s riding the crest of the coming population, or should I say legion of young autistic adults who too will find their helpless parents clutching their phones within an inch of crushing it in half.
My son sees himself as an artist, we do too. But even artists need to work. So, we tell him he’s a working artist. The day he received his first paycheck (a paid study at least) he began to understand that even though bagging children books can be mind-numbingly boring, there is a sense of pride in a job well done.
I’ve read the articles that claim parents with autism in the home suffer from PTSD. I think it’s true – and that our children suffer even more so every day by virtue of the condition. Seems the only people who understand this kind of Autism are the few “friends” I’ve met on Facebook. Slow to get involved with the vehicle of communication most are choosing, I find it invaluable for information sharing of the subjects most important to me.
Of late, the tide of Autism Awareness is giving way to Autism Action. The process of doing this whole gig – shouldering the responsibility of this specific generation has to have an ending. My good friends, who too are in the trenches, are too making the shift. We are collectively embittered by the situation and have waited years for the disclosure that we, as a society, are being damaged and broken for the profit of the corporations.
As I always try to find it, there is hope. Recently, Mr. Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. made a vow to my – wait scratch “my”, OUR community that his life work will be to disclose the simple truth that our government has known vaccines, and their components, are at the root of the Autism Epidemic. He has a book made up and is not afraid of the ramifications if the government doesn’t follow through.
Never did I imagine my life ending up this way. But it is a life, and it’s worth living. I can always buy a new phone.
God help us. ~ Wendy Frye
“To my mind this is like the Nazi death camps.” ~ Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. spoken to the audience at Autism One, 2013.