I saw you there. I observed you holding your son’s hand, a boy who appeared to be around 11 or 12. That was my first clue; most boys at that age don’t typically want to hold their mother’s hand in public.
I noticed you assessing the hotel pool, scanning for potential sensory triggers while searching for the most suitable spot for your family—one that was closest to both the exit and the water. I saw you gently encouraging your son to get into the pool, or at least as close as he could manage at first. With his hands covering his ears, he managed to perch on the edge, letting his feet dip into the water. I could see his eyes squinting tightly, but gradually, he started to relax. Although his hands remained near his head, he occasionally flapped them, a sign of his comfort.
I watched as you, your partner, and your daughter entered the pool, positioning yourselves around him to create a sensory shield. You were all smiles, but I noticed you, Mom, still vigilant, always scanning the environment.
I offered you a big smile in return. I recognize my tribe. I wanted to swim over, give you a fist bump or a high-five. But I had my own son to keep an eye on, and let’s be honest, I’ve never been great at striking up a conversation when I spot another family navigating life with autism. “Swim here often?” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. I just hoped you saw my smile as genuine and not tinged with pity. I wanted to acknowledge you, to let you know you weren’t alone.
The next morning at breakfast, I spotted you again. You “opened the joint,” just like we do. I wished your family a good morning with a smile. I overheard your son, filled with anxiety, asking, “What time is it?” to which your husband replied, somewhat wearily, “It’s vacation. Time doesn’t matter.” I noticed your sigh; you understood the importance of time, yet you were also aware of your husband’s perspective—navigating that delicate balance to keep the peace.
I genuinely hope your vacation was enjoyable. It may not have been the typical getaway that others would relish, but for your family, it was undoubtedly special. I wish I could have expressed how comforting it was to see someone like you. Just witnessing your family made me feel less outnumbered by the “typical” families surrounding me. I wish we encountered each other more often; perhaps we could’ve shared a laugh over a joke only we understood. Maybe you’ll come across this and realize you weren’t the only family at that resort living with autism. I hope we both find more of our own kind wherever we go—support, companionship, and maybe just a smile exchanged between two strangers at the pool.
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Summary
This article reflects on a poignant moment shared between two mothers at a pool, highlighting the unique challenges faced by families living with autism. It encourages connection and understanding among parents in similar situations, while also providing valuable resources for those considering at-home insemination.
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