Some people laugh at how easily I can burst in to tears.  I cried when Phoebe was little and she would go to school on the first day.  Literally, every year I would cry.  That small child would get ready for school with her large backpack, brand new clothes, and crisp new supplies just like most other kids.   I would drive her happy little face to school, and walk her in.  Never a tear from her…only from me (after I left of course).  That sweet innocent face, who had no idea she was different.  No idea she would fall far behind her peers developmentally, and socially.  She thought she was like everyone else.  She always loved school, and everything about it.  She loved school supplies, the bus, and packing up her bag.  This is no different at age 15.  Phoebe still loves all these things just like she did at age 7.  In some sense, she is still that little innocent girl, waiting to be just like everyone else. She tries so hard, and has come so far.  She asks questions, surveys her situations, asks questions again and has anxiety when it’s new.  She has been taught how to do these things.  Again, she has come a long way, but still has a certain sense of immaturity.  This will never go away.  It just won’t.  Before her school year ends, we plan for the next.  We know where she will go, and who her teachers will be.    It’s planned out. However, I still cry tears for her every year.  EVERY YEAR!  

Next, comes my son (the baby).  He has always been the baby of the family, and since the age of 3, I have done most of his (and her) things on my own.  I dropped him off at Kindergarten, and he looked at me and said, “I’m going with you.”  I replied, “Um, no you’re not.  You stay here with your teacher.”  With that, I turned and left.  He did fine. (I only cried myself to sleep that night) That seems like yesterday.  It would be years and years before I had to deal with him leaving elementary school…right??  I blinked and it was done.  I didn’t cry dropping him off at school in following years.  He understood.  He was brave, happy and like most of the other kids.  I didn’t worry about him.  I just didn’t.  He was great.  Last Spring, I cried myself through the last 2 months of school thinking about him starting Middle School this fall.  Everything has been completely “normal” for him.  He never needed an IEP, and has done everything “by the book.”  Everything he has done has been a first for me.  I cried when he scored his first goal, touchdown, and was the star in the school play.  I needed a box of kleenex (a box!!) at his 5th grade graduation.  Laugh if you want, but these experiences have all been brand new for me.  Phoebe never did anything like that.  She couldn’t handle any of that commotion, and was not good with crowds, noise, or focusing for long periods of time.  We (the schools and myself) accommodated her, just like you would do for your autistic child.

It may seem silly when I get a little teary as my 12-year-old gets on the bus this fall for 6th grade, but this whole experience is new for me.  He’s a middle schooler.  (MIDDLE SCHOOL!) He will get on the bus by himself, and find his way by himself.  He won’t need me as much, as years go on.

This will never be true of Phoebe, and her autism.  Its just a fact.

(So, let me cry and enjoy these experiences – and go ahead and make fun of me.  It’s ok- I can handle it – WHERE ARE THE KLEENEX??)