When I was first asked to do this blog, my answer was instantly “no”. I had actually tried it before. I had tried to journal. I started a blog. But I’m the mother of an autistic 17-year-old son. Creativity and extra time went by the wayside right about the time my water broke.
Besides, I think I feel like everything I might say has been said before and usually over and over again. Autism, to me, feels unbloggable. Jenny McCarthy, I am not.
The buzz about autism…the medical literature…the national dialogue…the educational debate…all that has swelled from nearly nothing when CJ was born to an overwhelming onslaught of information, advice, and criticism about every aspect of my child’s personality, performance (usually lack there-of), and perception of the world he inhabits…an onslaught that often sends me screaming to my therapist immediately after picking up my own prescriptions. Somehow, it’s become a bumper sticker war between breast cancer and autism and it’s anybody’s guess who is more “aware.” Early intervention, ABA, IEP’s, therapists, scholarships, Challenger football, Disney Dreamer and Doer awards, mainstreaming…..
And then your autistic teenager turns 18. It’s time to “transition.” Time to “age out.” And suddenly, no one’s talking. In fact, there’s no sound at all.
If an autistic teen turns 18 in the forest, can you hear his mother scream?
