My Precious Isabella~
Autism. An unwelcome little word to which I never paid any mind. In my naivety, I pictured a child rocking and humming in the corner – not speaking, not smiling – and certainly not you, my sweet baby girl. But, in my search for answers as you continued to slip away from me, that dirty word continued to rear its ugly head until it tattooed its name on your beautiful face on November 14, 2009: “Your daughter has classic autism. She is milder on the spectrum, and certainly high-functioning, but she does have autism.” And, so began the first day of the rest of our lives.
I want to tell you I am sorry. I am so, so, sorry. God gave me a responsibility to protect you the day you were born; He gave me an intuition to trust on your behalf. And, I failed. I watched you struggle. I did nothing but tell myself you were fine, that it was just a phase. Forgive me for listening to the doctors who didn't love you, the teachers who didn't nurture you, for letting my denial talk me out of helping you. But, know I didn't and will NEVER give up on you.
Eight months ago, so many things were wrong. You stared through me, you didn't hear your name, you hid under tables and you often didn't speak. You stacked and sorted and lined up your toys. You rocked, you spun, you rolled. You felt no pain, you were self-abusive, you would make yourself bleed. You couldn't ask for help, you laughed when we were upset with you and you couldn't make it to the potty. You couldn't be in a room by yourself, you were terrified by mirrors and you couldn't have anything out of place. You never slept. We would find you on the foyer tile in the mornings, on the bottom of the stairs. I didn't understand you. You were sad. You were so alone. I was broken-hearted.
I read, I researched, I PRAYED. I cried, I sobbed, I PRAYED some more. I took you to therapists, psychologists, neurologists. I sobbed, I cried, I read, I researched, I PRAYED. And, then I took ACTION. I became your teacher, your advocate, your nutritionist, your doctor, your unconditionally loving MOMMY.
Today, you are a different child. You smile all the time. You giggle infectiously. You listen for your name, you sit at the table, and you talk incessantly. You ask questions. Your literal mind amazes me. Your ability to see in patterns is phenomenal. You have a sweetness about you that can never be tarnished. You attempt to pretend-play, even if it is imagining that our house is in traffic. You hug, you love, you are empathetic. You haven't had a day or night accident in almost 2 months. You play by yourself, you sing songs, you answer questions, you SLEEP. I am starting to understand you, I can see that you are happy, and you will never, EVER be alone again.
I want to tell you I love you. I can't stretch my arms wide enough to show how much I love you. I want to tell you how proud I am of you. I want to tell you that the day that I was given a name to the thief that was stealing your heart, your words, your emotions, your sleep, your life - I committed myself to helping you erase it from your vocabulary. Not just make it easier to say, but destroy it. I will falter, and I will make mistakes, I will get frustrated. I will cry and I will get upset, and there will be days where I just won't understand. Our journey is far from over. But, if you have autism, I have autism. Me and you, best friends, are doing this together. I will NEVER fail you again.
Love,
Mommy
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