Hope, Faith and Acceptance

When Noah was born, autism came barreling into our family like a Mack truck.  We didn't realize it at the time, and it took us until he was nine to agree to have him diagnosed.  As someone who had worked with children with severe autism, I thought I knew what autism looked like, and this did not look like the autism I knew.  I fought it as long as I could, but I knew there were differences about my child that only autism could explain.  As parents, it was the most difficult thing we've been through with him.  We were originally denied services because it was decided his need was not great enough, and I had to fight.  Even though we finally received those services, we did not see much improvement.  Noah wasn't interested enough, and wasn't willing to do the work.  I will never be able to fully describe the gratitude I still feel for the equine therapy center we eventually found, for the instructors, the horses and the setting.  We saw dramatic improvements almost immediately, and we knew it was God-given.  Our church at the time was supportive, and we were able to see why God had moved us there; several other families there had kids 'like' Noah, and they lovingly guided us through the process, held my hand, listened, hugged and helped me remember to laugh.  When we realized we couldn't cope with day to day "Noah-ness" and homeschool him at the same time, we were blessed with a truly amazing fifth grade teacher upon re-enrolling him in public school.  I will never forget the kindness we encountered during those first two years as we struggled to find a place in this world for our child.  We struggled with making him conform to society versus making society accept him as he was.  We knew he needed to learn it's okay to be Noah, as God made him, but how?  In all honesty, the original specialists did not give us much hope.  In fact, those were almost their exact words, "He's on the mild end of things, but don't get your hopes up.  He will need lifetime care, be unable to hold down jobs for long, or do more than menial work."  They called it a lifetime disability.  That declaration rang in my ears for weeks.  When I think about it now, I laugh.

Obviously, they hadn't heard of our mighty God, who does have the last word, indeed.

Even though Noah heard the doctor's proclamation, I think in many ways he was relieved.  My guilt kicked into overtime and I began wondering how long he'd worried what was wrong with him and why he wasn't like other kids.  We did our best to stress that nothing was wrong with him, his brain just works differently.  I also worked hard to find new doctors, doctors who would speak life to my child, and not set up road blocks.  Once we did that (and found Miss Jen, Miss Christina, Justin and Molly!), things began turning around.

If you have the pleasure of knowing Noah now, much of what I could tell you about those years would surprise you.  You wouldn't recognize him as the same kid.  He's grown so much, overcome so much, matured, and just accepted who he is.  He's learned to love himself, embrace his life with autism and be proud of how God made him.  Noah knows this is part of God's plan for him, something bigger than him, and he has fully taken responsibility for it.  Over the years, he's taken a positive attitude about it.  It's not a burden, it's not a disability, it's just part of life.  As Noah has said, "Everyone has their differences.  Mine just happens to have a name."  He's very nonchalant about it, and talks about his diagnosis quite openly.  I'm proud of the friends he's made as well; explaining one of his behaviors to them one day by telling them about his diagnosis, they shrugged their shoulders and said, "So?"  I'm so grateful he gets to be Noah with them, and they accept him as he is, in all of his quirky, goofy awkwardness.  Recently in church, he openly declared his autism a gift and nothing less before God and everyone, choosing to do so on his own, with his own handwritten signs during a testimony.  Brave.

As Noah's mom, my goal is no longer so much awareness as it is acceptance.  I do not feel that my child needs a cure, but I do know there are many parents of children with autism who feel differently. I fully respect them and understand it.  I do not feel that my child needs to be able to conform to society, become 'normal' or risk being shut away because he functions differently than the majority of the world's population.  Noah was never meant to fit in, he's always been meant to stand out.  I've had the blessing of finally being able to hug my child, and of hearing him speak my name in the same sentence as "I love you."  Many parents do not have this luxury.   Yes, it's a luxury, and it's something I do not take for granted.  For those parents, and for those just beginning their journey down this road, I want Noah's story to be one of hope.

This has been a long road.  It's not always been easy, especially in the beginning.  I was angry, I yelled and screamed at God.  I hated autism.  I grew bitter.  Now, I know that Noah would not be Noah without it.  In many ways, I'm even grateful for it.  I know that on the days it was hard, frustrating and maddening for me, it was even more so for Noah.  He endured bullying and teasing, and was easily taken advantage of.  But, I see who he is now, and I'm proud of him for not allowing any of that to make him bitter, only better.

Noah is my hero.  His courage, bravery, wit and sense of humor have made this journey half of what it's been.  He continuously teaches me something new about overcoming obstacles and taking pride in how God made us, about being the kind of parent my children need me to be, and about myself.  Through Noah's journey, we've all found out what we're made of, and we've learned it will be okay.  I'm not the hero, and I always correct people when they tell me that.  Being Noah's mom was not the struggle; being Noah, in the beginning, was the struggle.  I'm not special because I'm his mom, or because of what I "put up with," as some people have said.  I get to be his mom, and I have the privilege of watching him become his true self.