I Am Autism

You never know how true it is until you have a kid or two with Autism..

Hello. Allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Autism. Perhaps you know me or know of me. I am a condition, a "disorder" that affects many people. I strike at will, when and where I want. Unlike Downs Syndrome or other birth "defects," I leave no marks on those I strike. In fact, I pride myself on the ability to infiltrate a Childs life, while leaving him or her strikingly handsome. Many people may not even know that I am there. They blame the child for what I cause him or her to do. I am Autism and I do as I please.
I am Autism. I strike boys and girls, infants and toddlers. I find my best victims to be boys around the age of 2, but any child will do. I like children and they are always the true victims, though I take hostage the others in the child's family as well. It is a bit like getting two for the price of one. I affect one child and infect the entire family.
I am Autism. I strike rich and poor alike. The rich combat me with education and therapy. The poor shut their children away and cannot afford to fight me. I am able to win in the lives of poor children more than I am of the wealthy, but I will try to take root anywhere.
I am Autism. I am an equal opportunity disorder. I like whites, blacks, Mexicans, Ukrainians, Russians, Poles, Slavs, Japanese, Koreans and Fins. In fact, I strike everywhere on earth. I know no geographical bounds.
I am Autism. I do not discriminate based upon religion either. I strike Jews and Christians, Muslims and Buddhists, Atheists and Agnostics, Hindus and Rastafarians. I do not care what religion a person is or what beliefs he may hold. When I strike, there will be little time for any of that anyway. When they find me, they will question everything the believe in, so why would I strike any one group? I have affected followers of every religion on the planet.
I am Autism and I am strong and getting stronger every year, every month, every day, every minute, and every second. I am concerned that money might be allotted to combat me and my takeover of children, but so far I have little to fear. Some countries, like Kuwait, are spending quite a bit of money to assist those who I have targeted and some, like the United States, would rather spend money on such ludicrous things as discovering the number of American Indians who practice voodoo, as opposed to combating me. In an atmosphere as that, I can flourish and wreck havoc at will. In places such as that, I rub my hands with glee at the problem I can cause to children, families and to the society at large.
I am Autism. When I come, I come to stay. I take the dreams and hopes of every parent and trample them with glee. I see the fear and confusion in the eyes of my victims and I see the formation of wrinkles, worries and ulcers and the pain on the face of their parents. I see the embarrassment their child causes because of me and the parents unsuccessful attempt to hide their child and, me. I see tears and the parents cry and feel the tears of their child. I am Autism. I leave sorrow in my wake.
I am Autism. I teeth and give nothing but bewilderment and loathing in return. I take speech and learning, I take socialization and understanding. I take away "common sense" and if I am allowed to flourish, I take away all but their physical life. What I leave behind, is almost worse than death.
I am Autism. I fear nothing except courage, which I thankfully see little of. I fear those who take a stand against me and attempt to fight me and bring others into the fight as well. I fear those who try to make it safe and easier for my victims in the community, and their families. I fear those who push ahead, despite the fact that I am in tow. I fear the day that I will be eradicated from the planet. Yet, I do not fear too much right now. There is no need.
I am Autism and I bet you know me or know of me. If you don't, you probably will soon. I am marching forward faster than I ever have before. I am looking for new children all the time. I dread the day I will be looked on with pity, or worse yet, understanding, for that day, is the day I will begin to die. But, I don't think that will happen for a long long time though, do you? In the meantime, I prowl onward, looking to cause pain and suffering wherever I go. I have so much work to do and thankfully, no one is stopping me.
Hello my name is Autism. Perhaps you know me or know of me.................................
written by: Marty Murphy
Marty Murphy is an adult with Autism Spectrum Disorder who was born and raised in central Illinois. With her personal insight and presentations on autism across Illinois, Marty has made a tremendous impact on how parent, teachers and administrators look at our children's futures

Nobody Can See....

Dear Mommy & Daddy

Mothers of Special Needs Children

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.

This year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children.

Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow, I visualize God hovering over earth selecting His instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation.

As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

"Armstrong, Beth, son. Patron saint, Matthew.

"Forrest, Marjorie, daughter. Patron saint, Cecelia.

"Rudledge, Carrie, twins. Patron saint… give her Gerard, He's used to profanity."

Finally, He passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child."

The angel is curious. "Why this one, God? She's so happy."

"Exactly," smiles God. "Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel."

"But has she patience?" asks the angel.

"I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it."

"I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has his own world and that's not going to be easy."

"But Lord, I don't think she even believes in you."

God smiles. "No matter. I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough selfishness."

The angel gasps, "Selfishness? Is that a virtue?"

God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child who is less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a 'spoken word.' She will never consider a 'step' ordinary."

"When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle and know it! When she describes a tree or sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations."

"I will permit her to see clearly the things I see… ignorance, cruelty, prejudice… and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side."

"And what about her patron saint" asks the angel, his pen poised in mid-air.

God smiles. "A mirror will suffice."

Written by Erma Bombeck

God's Perfect Gift

The day you were born was like no other
God had richly blessed me and made me your mother
In those first few moments your life I planned
But soon God showed me this was to great a demand

I watched you grow from two to three
And unusual things I began to see
You did not play with cars like many boys do
But would only be content spinning the wheels a time or two

Over the years the differences kept mounting
And soon you plugged your ears at each noise sounding
I watched you as on the floor you lay
Far away from the other children you would play

The screaming, the tantrums, the self injury began
And I was told to discipline you to turn you into a young man
But through all the discipline the behavior still stands
And soon I saw I made to many great demands

Structure and routine is what you so need
These things I overlooked in my selfish greed
I sent you to school just like any other
Now I look back and see my failure as a mother

I ignored my own instinct and said you were fine
You had to be perfect because you were mine
The school noted differences I couldn't keep counting
For these delays my excuses kept mounting

Soon I heard those words so many fear
"Your son has Autism" is the statement I hear
What can I do to fix this today
Was the only thing I could think of to say

Unfortunately they say there is no cure
This disorder you will simply have to endure
We can't even tell you what causes it for sure

Therapy and meetings and appointments galore
Maybe these things will open the door
God gave me a child with a very special heart
And though I don't know where to begin it is now time to start

Today I look back and what I see
As I sit and tickle you and bounce you on my knee
That different from other children you may be
But God made you perfect, perfect for me

Written with love by Becky P.

How Do I Spell A.U.T.I.S.M.???

A

I have to say the first emotion I felt was Anger, I was angry that this
had happened to me, I had been so careful,
I made an appointment with my doctor, when I was barely a month along,
I took good care of myself, I ate well,
and didn't abuse my body with drugs or alcohol, or smoking.
I felt such rage at first, this was not fair,
some women neglected themselves, and didn't care for the child inside,
and their child was perfect. Why not mine?

U

Unbelief..... denial...........you name it, I felt it. This was not
happening to me, I would wake up in the night, and it would hit me, my
child has autism, and then I would plug my ears, trying to stop the
voices in my head, I would bury my head in the pillow, refusing to
believe this was happening to us. It took me a long time to let it sink
in, and to this day, I sometimes forget, and then the realization hits
me, and it knocks me to my knees again. It takes all my strength to get
up. But I do, because I have to, I have to be there for my child.

T

Of course the tears, tears of rage, panic, frustration. Gut wrenching
tears in the middle of the night, somehow it always seems worse in the
night. The house is quiet at last, and there is time to think, to
ponder, to pray. Tears though are such a relief, without their outlet, I
would have gone crazy. But, I have held them back so many times, in a
store when someone makes a cruel remark,
or a child who approaches mine, then backs off with that 'look' on his face.
I refuse to cry then, because I still have my pride, and it although it
is tattered, I cling to it like a security blanket.

I

Isolation, oh yes, the isolation. Friends seemed to disappear into thin
air, when they found out.
Sometimes I wanted to scream "It's not catching, " but they wouldn't hear
me, they were too busy keeping their child away from mine. The phone
stopped ringing too, and people would turn away at Church, avert their
eyes when my child had a tantrum. The isolation is the hardest
thing.......... being alone hurts. At the time in my life when I needed
friends and family the most, the pain of them looking the other way, was
indescribable. But I have found friends, people who know the path I
take, for it is their journey too. For this blessing I am so grateful.
These are the true friends, the ones who are there for me, when life is
unbearable.

S

Sadness and Solace, I have felt the sadness of knowing my child will not
be like other children, I have wept many tears for him. I have spent my
waking hours, and sleepless nights worrying about his future, who will
care for him, what kind of adult will he be? Will someone be there for
him, when I am gone? There is such pain in not knowing, there is nothing
so hard for a parent, than realizing that one day, you will not be there
to take care of your child. And knowing that this child will always need
your care. But there is Solace too, and I have felt this peace,
I have learned to accept this Autism, I cannot erase it,
nor will I embrace it. But I have come to a feeling of peace, and I go on.

M

Mercy and Magic, Have mercy on me, It's so hard to raise a child when
others look on, and instead of holding out a hand to help, they stand in
judgment. Don't judge me, when my child acts out, when he screams
because something has changed in his environment, he doesn't do it
purposefully, he is only reacting to his feelings. I am a good mother, I
love my child like you love yours, I want the best for him, yet I cannot
give in to him. He looks to me and I must teach him,
just as you teach your child. I may do it differently,
because my child is different. He learns in his own way,
and I have to teach him in a way that to others may seem odd, or unusual.

Magic? Oh yes, there is magic. I have seen my child blossom, I have
seen him learn, I have watched his wonder, and rejoiced in his small
steps. His smile is magic, and his heart is gold.
I did not choose this journey, but somehow it is mine, and I must see the
roses, as I walk upon the rocky pathway. I did not ask for this, but it
was given to me, and I must be strong enough to bear it. If I cannot,
then I am lost, if I give up, who will take my place?
There is enough joy, if I look for it....... it will find me.

And Then God Created This Mother

When the good Lord was creating mothers, He was into his sixth day of "overtime" when an angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And the Lord said "Have you read the specs on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have 180 moveable parts - all replaceable, run on black coffee and leftovers, have a lap the disappears when she stands up, a kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair and six pairs of hands, ears that will hear things she doesn't want to hear, a mouth that can gently kiss away scrapes and bruises and yet tear the hide right off those who try anything against the best interests of her child. Yes this model will have to be able to sit patiently and listen to outlandish reports about her child without flinching. She will have to hear how hopeless it all is and know that it isn't so. She will have to have those kinds of eyes which don't tear when she hears other mothers talk about how well things are going for their children." The angel shook it head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands, yet? No way."
"It's not the hands that are causing the problems," said the Lord. "It's the three pairs of eyes this mother has to have." "That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. The Lord nodded and said, "One pairs that sees through closed doors when she asks "What are you kids doing in there?" when she already knows. Another pair here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know and, of course, the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up for the 99th time and say "I understand and I love you anyway" without so much as uttering a word."
"Lord," said the angel, touching his sleeve gently, "come to bed. Tomorrow!"
"I can't," answered the Lord, "I am so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick, feeds a family of six on 1 pound of hamburger and gets her nine year old to stand under a shower."
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," it sighed. "But tough!" said the Lord excitedly. "You cannot imagine what this mother can do or endure." "Can it think?" asked the angel. "Not only can it think," said the Creator, "it can reason and compromise."
Finally, the angel bent over and ran a finger across the cheek. There is a leak," it pronounced. "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model." "That's not a leak" said the Lord, "it's a tear." "What's it for?" asked the angel. "Tears are for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness and pride…this model will know a lot about all that." answered the Lord. "But you know" he continued, "I don't even remember putting that tear there." "By the way," asked the angel "what will you call this model?" "I will call this one simply the mother of a child with autism."

The Beautiful Butterfly

I am the child who has Autism,
who can not do the things that you do,
But that does not mean I am useless,
I have feelings and emotions, just like you.


I can hear the things you are saying,
even though with words I can not yet speak,
I may not be physically-able to do things like you,
but that does not mean I am weak.


I know there are many things about me,
that you simply do not understand,
But please don't shy away from me,
I could use a friend, and a warm helping hand.


I may have a mind that works differently,
Pages in a book - I may flap instead of turn,
But that does not mean you can't teach me,
you might be surprised at just what I can learn.


If you think when I don't cooperate, I'm misbehaving,
And conclude that I'm not disciplined enough,
Please take a moment to consider,
that the road I must travel can be rough.


When you stare at me, point, or start to whisper,
it makes me sad, and I so want to cry ......
Why do you think of me as some crippled caterpillar?
Why can't you see that I'm God's beautiful butterfly?


© Michelle M. Guppy

Welcome to Holland

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved