Bubbles.

Just the other day I was thinking the back when I went in to get my son initially evaluated for disabilities. I remember walking into this brick government building that had the smell of stale air trapped in it. An older gentleman walked us back to a room where I was to answer several questions about my sons behavior, development, those kinds of things.

He was in a little corner playing with some toys and I was answering the man's questions. Something suddenly startled easy, something made him get up in a burst and start running around the table that we were at. As soon as I went to go grab him rather just before, he banged his head on the corner of the table. So hard I cringed as I felt his pain. But he, he did not. He wanted to continue running around the room as if nothing happened and it broke my heart. Most parents would want their child not to get hurt and it is true that I didn't want him to get hurt but I didn't want him to feel at that moment. I would've given anything for him to feel what just happened to him. 

The man doing the evaluation, looked at me and asked "do things like this happen often?"I put my head down and said yes. After bringing me some ice for his head, he said to me that there was one more test he wanted to do, that I could be in the room but I was to not encourage or participate with my child. But if I found it difficult I could sit on my hands if the child came to me. I was to not speak speak for him or engage with him during this time. I agreed and we started. We then walked over to a smaller room one that reminded me of the ones you see in the movies where the insane person is capped and there's just a small window to peek on them. We went in I sat down in the chair in the corner and immediately sat on my hands knowing that it would be difficult for me not to want to hold my son when he came to me. At this time, I was the only person he saw it but rarely wanted me to touch him. 

Screener began to try to engage my son and play but he would not. The man pulled out some bubbles begin to blow them. Nothing In between blowing he would tell me "children love bubbles. They can't help themselves, it automatically brings joy out in them." He blew more bubbles. My son did not look at the bubbles, did not try to pop the bubbles, kept on as if they weren't even there. Afterwords the screener run is back to the original room where E had hurt his head. It was there that he told me that my son likely had autism. It was there that I felt my heart grieve. Ignorantly, I felt nothing but pain and loss of a dream for him. As a mother when you're pregnant you think of all the possibilities this child will have. Of what they will look like when they grow older, how they will be or who they will become. You never expect or plan for things to go wrong or be different. At that point all I knew or felt was that I had to prepare for a life with a child who would be different. The man looked at me before he left and he put his hand on my shoulder and told me "my son has autism. I have never heard his voice. He lives in a small apartment and has a small job. He a health aide that checks on him regularly as do I but he's independent.This is not the end for your sons future, do not let it be." if he only knew how much of a gift that statement was to me. 

Having gone through many of the early struggles of acceptance, I began fighting for all that I could do for him so that he could reach every bit of his potential, if not more. Doing this has been worth it. Today, E is outside playing with his brother and sister. Actually engaged in play with them. I am reminded of this day and I wanted to share it with you. Here we were blowing bubbles and I was able  to watch him run in his sisters rain boots and play with his siblings, chasing after bubbles. Popping them and smiling with joy. It filled my heart and reminded me how far we have come. 

The pre-screening was hard. Probably even harder than the day we actually got his clinical diagnosis. The positive is that it prepared me and taught me that I need to fight for my son. That 10 minutes of wallowing was enough. That from the moment he was diagnosed, I have done nothing but what I thought was best for him. And if all he ever did was chase bubbles for the rest of his life, I'd still know that he traveled leaps and bounds to get here.

Once I was told I would never have children, now I have three. Today, it's bubbles, tomorrow...the moon!

We are blessed for sure.

With love and dedication anything is possible!