Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in...

  Songs have really been affecting me lately. This one, by Mika, is "Any Other World." I was driving and listening to the song in the car as the words "Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in" came on. Well, then came the tears, many of them. I realized that many times in a day I have to say goodbye-  to the world of "normal" kids, to the life I thought my boy would have, to the dreams that come to every parent when their child is born. 
  That particular day, it was a hard goodbye. You see, I had been operating under the delusion that Scout could play like the other kids, be part of the neighborhood "gang". This summer, I have enjoyed being able to let him go to other kids' houses for short periods of time (as long as big sis was with him), and ride his bike up and down our street. I have appreciated the bravery of other parents as we try this little experiment. I have only had to go get Scout a couple of times as his ninja self took over in the house of a friend. All in all, I have been elated at what I thought was coming out of the woods of loneliness for him, of not being allowed to be like other kids. 
  I had to say goodbye to this idea I had, this delusion of a normal childhood for my special son. We pulled in the driveway after speech therapy, and he saw some friends riding bikes on our street. He jumped out of the car and onto the bike that is two sizes to big for him (he got bored with the smaller bikes and wasn't happy until he had one he had to jump up onto). As he rode off to join the other boys, I yelled to him to stay on our street, which he normally does just fine. I went inside to have the breakfast I had so badly missed that morning. After a few minutes, I couldn't hear Scout anymore, so I went out to check on him. I couldn't see him or hear him anywhere (the Tarzan noise serves well as a locator sometimes). I got in the car, thinking he had probably followed his friend to his house. I looked there, and other friends' houses, with no luck. I came back home thinking he had probably made his way back, and found a police car in the driveway. I saw Scout's bike and was relieved he was home. The cop asked, "Do you know why I'm here?" and I thought "Of course I do," but asked him what was wrong. He told me Scout had gone to someone's house and had bitten the child, kicked and spit on the mom, and ripped a screen door. He said when Scout saw him pull up, he headed home screaming and crying. When the cop said he'd like me to follow him to the house, I told him I needed to calm my child down first. 
  In the house, Scout was crouched on the stairs, shaking and crying, saying he didn't want to get arrested. His awesome big brother Oliver was trying to comfort him, but he was sure he was going to jail. I tried to reassure him as my heart broke. After calming him down, we drove to the house. The lady there was pretty shaken, and said Scout was going crazy and she didn't know what to do. I tried to explain (without excusing). It turned out that the boys said they were going to one of their houses, and Scout was trying to get them to stay and ride with him. They kept telling him to go home because they knew he was supposed to stay on our street, but to him, that was rejection, which he doesn't take well at all. He was hurt, and that quickly turns to anger in him, and he doesn't know what to do. 
  The cop was helpful, though (hopefully you detect the sarcasm here), explaining to me that this behavior was unacceptable . I said, "Obviously," but he thought a mom on the verge of tears needed lecturing. As he took down Scout's information so he could "go over things with the prosecutor", I kept thinking, "This won't be the last time." 
   Say goodbye...
  I had high hopes that the summer would be spent with many hours of behavioral therapy (the experts suggest 30-40 a week), and that the behavior problems would be well on the way to being fixed. After spending all summer trying to find this therapy and a therapist that could travel to our town, I have made little headway. It doesn't seem right that living in a rural area automatically dooms your child. I have been able to find speech therapy in Soda Springs, and an occupational therapist that travels from Afton. But still no luck with the behavioral therapy. The only agency in Pocatello that would even consider coming here said they couldn't just do it for one child. Well, now starts my crusade to educate parents of other kids that this therapy is available and get the therapist here. So much fighting to get him what he needs, what, in other areas, would be simple to obtain. I know we will get there, but I hear the clock ticking and know we've already lost precious time.  
  So, I battle on, having taken up the Armor and Sword of Motherhood, the heavy mantle of Mother of an Autistic Child. I have Viking blood-  I'll be ok (is what I tell myself a thousand times a day).
  Bryce and I were in Sam's Club the other day, blissfully alone for a rare "date", when a young man caught my attention. He had some of the same "tics",  facial expressions, and noises as Scout has (I now have "Autism radar"). I watched as he behaved in much the same way as Scout does, and my knees nearly buckled as I had a vivid realization-  Scout isn't going to outgrow this. When he's this boy's age (probably about 13), he'll still be autistic, he'll still be different.
   Say goodbye...
  Bryce and I have talked before about the grieving we go through. I think anyone with a special needs child would understand this, but other parents may not. Every day, many times a day, is like a death. We grieve for the life we thought Scout would have when he was born. We grieve for the child we thought Scout would be. We grieve for the many moments of loss (lack of affection and connection, loss of a normal childhood, etc). Our grief is daily, and constant. It is painful. We strive to give him a better chance, to reach him, to be patient with him. But our lives are a continuous journey through the stages of grief. Just when I think I have reached "acceptance", I find myself back in "denial". I must really hold onto that stage, denial, or the reality of things wouldn't constantly come as such a shock to me.
  I hold onto the hopeful things, as every parent of a special needs child must do. Yesterday, Scout rubbed my arm. When we went to his class to meet his kindergarten teacher, he didn't flip out when she patted him on the back and shook his hand. He looked into my eyes, and smiled. 
  Then comes another moment of reality, grief. I have to say goodbye again...
Listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JRvviNXmWY