One afternoon, my son, Noah, who is ten years old, made an observation: “Mom, my little brother, Ethan, has autism.” We had just returned from a berry-picking trip, and I glanced at Ethan, who was attempting to fit a blueberry into his nostril. I turned back to Noah and replied, “I understand why you might think that, but Ethan isn’t officially diagnosed with autism.”
“Who else has it? Who else is like me?” he pressed.
How do I respond? I could recite statistics, explaining that one in every 44 children is diagnosed with autism, which translates to a vast number of individuals who share similar experiences, such as having unique ways of perceiving the world. However, that information would likely feel abstract and distant to him.
Instead, I focus on celebrating the positive aspects of autism: Noah’s sharp memory, his empathy, his perseverance, and the strides he has made. Yet, this doesn’t alleviate his feelings of loneliness—being the only one in our family, possibly in his school, diagnosed with a spectrum disorder. It’s as if I’m trying to convey this message:
“Noah, you are a remarkable unicorn among ordinary horses. You are truly special! While there are countless others like you—bajillions even—we just don’t know where to find them. And as much as we admire your vibrant uniqueness, we sometimes struggle to understand you. Your outbursts can be overwhelming, and perhaps it would be easier for us if you were just another horse, making it simpler for us to teach you basic concepts.”
Finding My Voice
When I first started my blog, I didn’t have a clear direction. Over the past couple of years, I’ve realized that I wanted to connect with others who were navigating the complexities of parenting a child with autism. From my cozy office, I could share my struggles, inject humor into my narratives, and connect with a community that understands the challenges of this journey. If raising autism awareness was a byproduct of this endeavor, then that was a welcome bonus.
However, I have not fully succeeded. While I’ve connected with many people, the boy sitting in the next room—the one with autism—still feels bewildered and isolated.
Building Connections
To help him see that he is not alone, I turned to my readers on social media, asking them to share their stories and experiences. The flood of responses was overwhelming.
“Hi Noah! My son, also named Noah, is seven and has autism. His social skills may be lacking, but he has an incredible ability to light up a room! You are not alone, my friend.”
“Greetings, Noah! This is my grandson, who is 15 and has autism. He is the extraordinary unicorn in my life.”
I recognized Noah in these messages. I saw my own reflections in the sentiments expressed. I absorbed the hope, the pain, and the love shared.
“I have a son who is 14 and has autism. As an athletic father, I looked forward to sharing sports with my son, yet I embrace his brilliant mind, his humor, and his kindness. My mission is to ensure he lives his life to the fullest.”
Old friends reconnected, and a mother shared her child’s radiant smile.
“Hello Noah, my son is six and doesn’t speak much, but his smile can brighten any room… just like yours.” Educators from across the country chimed in, sharing how students with autism have impacted their lives.
As the week progressed, Noah eagerly asked for my phone to read the messages. Each time he did, his face lit up with joy.
“I have two sons with autism. They’re twins, 13 years old, one loves swimming and elevators, while the other has a fantastic memory and plays the trombone.”
We even read a message from a family in another country over dinner, and Noah’s eyes sparkled when he recognized, “Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands.”
Responses varied in detail and emotion. Some shared their own experiences, like one adult who mentioned, “I have autism, and I’ve achieved a lot, even with my challenges. He is definitely not alone.”
As I sat at my laptop one morning, Noah peeked over my shoulder again, drawn to the thread of messages filled with encouragement and stories. Then he paused, reading a heartfelt note from a father that said: “Hi Noah. I have autism, and I have loved you since the day you were born.”
The Meaning of “Bajillion”
Initially, I thought the term “bajillion” was just an exaggerated way to express the number of responses. Yet, I’ve come to realize it encompasses so much more. A bajillion represents the confusion, the fear, the joy, and the complexity of living with autism. It’s the laughter of brothers navigating the ups and downs together, the love shared across distances, and the understanding that, while each journey may be different, no one truly walks alone.
Resources for Parents
For further information on navigating the journey of parenthood, consider exploring resources such as this article and this site, which provide insights on related topics. Additionally, this source offers valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination.
Conclusion
In summary, while the journey of autism can feel isolating, the vast community that exists can bring hope and connection. Together, we can support one another and remind our children that they are never truly alone.