When you think of autism, do you take it this far? Can you imagine getting to the point, where you wished you were dead, or your child were dead or perhaps both?
My child is not “severe.” She’s getting better all the time. Our horrid days are few and far between at this point. But a quick glance over my shoulder and there we are. Her constant, blood curdling screams over every little thing. Me on the floor in the kitchen in tears, covering my own ears. Baby brother cowering in the corner, sucking his thumb.
We've had many, traumatic, horrible moments. In my darkest hours, I had visions of snapping. Imagining myself on a cot in a jail cell, finally peaceful.
If I were single parent?
If my spouse were not supportive?
If I lacked education, and did not have the resources to research like crazy, gaining glints of hope along the way?
This single father endured many years of autistic behavior, far worse than any I ever had to deal with. He and his child suffered at the hands of a government bought and paid for by the pharmaceutical industry. They no doubt suffered at the hands of insurance companies who deny coverage for biomedical treatments, because these treatments are not "approved" by the very government that seeks to hide the cause of the disorder.
I wonder what the stats are? How many autistic kids have been killed at the hands of their parents?
This child certianly won't be the last.
9 comments:
I think about that kind of thing a lot. I now have such empathy for people driven to the brink, I've been there. There but for the grace of God go I... I remember when Wil would be quiet, finally, and I'd think, "maybe he's dead..." and for a brief moment I felt relief. Not proud of that, but it's a fact of life with these kids. They push us to the edge, and sometimes, over.
Oh honey, what a great post. So brave and you are still the greatest saint I know. You are doing the hardest work of all, maintaining some semblance of grace amidst the hard work of endless test and challenge.
Hi Michelle, I too share those thoughts. I remember reading a story recently in the UK where a mum jumped off a bridge with her autistic son, they both died. At the time I thought, yes I could see how you could get to that point. I too have had my moments of thinking as you said, if I didn't have a husband, a mum, the ability to just get in the car and get out into the countryside. Would I cope then, I don't know. Thanks again Michelle for your thought provoking post. You're an inspiration!
I have all the admiration in the world for mothers who actually care about their kids. I never could have done the mother thing. I am so in awe of mothers that do.
Great post as always.
Oh, man. *sigh* How terribly horrible...
You are so brave to dare to be so honest. No one wants to ever admit that they feel like snapping, somedays. But people do. Even good parents. No excuse for what this dad did, but nothing will ever change as along as we won't admit what IS. It is like post-partum depression...It had to be talked about.
Wow.
:)
as always, god help us.
Wow...now that is some real sadness. How horrible.
You are as courageous as you are loving, Michelle.
In the midst of my son's most difficult years, he jumped out of a 3rd story window at his dad's house. When I heard the news, it took a fraction of a second to register and another tiny fraction to get beyond wondering if we'd all be better off if it had been higher. In the time it took to blink my eyes, I launched into "protect my child" mode and started working to get him the care he so desperately needed. But I had to blink them twice.
There were also brief moments when, alone in the car, I imagined driving into concrete bridge abutments or off cliffs. Not to die. Just to make it stop. Sometimes I needed it to stop, to let me just BE for a moment.
Many years later, I remember the feeling with everything in me, and my heart goes out to you and Carrie and all those who are in the middle of that challenging road.
Peace.
It does take a lot of courage to admit we've all been there. But I think that the only way to help is to start by acknowledging that. My favorite charity this holiday season is one that offers no-questions-asked crisis relief care to mothers who need 12, 24 or even 48 hours to breathe and clear their heads. Pre-screened families open their homes and their hearts to the children while the mothers get some space. Those of us who have supportive spouses or friends who can provide that for us are the lucky ones. Those who don't deserve it, too. Thanks, Michelle!
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