October 7

You know, this year I feel just as confused about today as I did last year. I thought today would be marked as a day of triumph, and it might be that, but it's something else, too.

William was diagnosed, officially, with autism one year ago today.

We worked so hard for that diagnosis. I beat my own brains out over it, got myself on waiting lists all over the state (and other states) and whatnot. I prepared to receive a not-good-enough diagnosis of PDD-NOS, which says the patient has autism without saying enough to get the kid treatment. It's like the stigma with none of the help. Whatever; I was ready to fight if that's what they were gonna give us. When the neurologist handed that diagnosis of autism over, I felt like I should have set free this latent fist pump or something. No. It fell flat. It's not like the diagnosis surprised me, or wiped out some last bit of denial. But there was something that felt wrong about being relieved to hear a neurologist say the word "autism."

I feel the same way today. I saw it coming, and I had no feeling attached to it other than a weird discomfort. I knew I should feel proud and sentimental or something because he's come so far.

I didn't. I feel that way every day, but I didn't feel much need to follow societal "shoulds" today. I mostly felt angry that I was supposed to feel happy.

Think about it. (Mom, I know you're going to say this is all negative or whatnot, but it's how I feel today.) We celebrate his milestones like no other parent. If William tells me he wants cranberries, I yelp in surprise and spin him around and kiss his face and give him more cranberries than he'd ever eat. And then I call family members. That feels good in the moment. But today, on a day when I feel like I should be happy about things that aren't happy, I feel angry that I have to celebrate the fact that my son has the vocabulary of a child half his age. I am grateful for his school, but I feel angry that I should be happy about driving 45 minutes one way and all but abandoning my daughter in the mornings. I feel glad for what we've gained, but I'm mad that I should have to celebrate gaining the things that everyone else has without trying.

I want to clarify, of course, that this is today. This is a moment. 99% of the time, I am proud and grateful and feeling like the world's luckiest woman. It's today I feel differently. And I'll go back to feeling the good things on October 8. But October 7 is a symbol. It is the day he was officially marked. We, as a family, were set apart from the rest of society. We can't do things that are easy for everyone else, and I'm not going to celebrate that on October 7. I'm going to be emotional about it, and I'm going to mourn it. And I don't care how crappy that makes me look to the world. This is what it feels like.

Tomorrow will be different. It's sort of my mantra, actually. Today was hard (and it almost always is), but tomorrow? For October 7ths that happen a long way off?

There's some hope for that. I hope.