We Walk, this Boy and Me

I've learned that belonging to a person with autism is never just one feeling.

Yesterday, I had an out of body experience.

I was walking along the river with my son Cooper and my husband. We had to get him out of the house, which can be challenging in this heat. Us Midwesterners don’t do the 100’s well.

As we walked along, I held his hand. Every few seconds he would pull it away from me to do something on his iPad or point to a duck or flap his arms happily or hold 2 fingers up to remind me that his Amazon should be here today. I would reach my hand back in once he was done and we would hold hands again. A mother and son.

During the short walk he sat down twice. He pretended to jump in the river a dozen times, always to get a rise out of me. He ran. He strolled. He danced. He yelled at me once.

I did most of the talking. Praising him. Because he was doing a wonderful job. I told him his shoes were on the wrong feet and he giggled. I kissed his forehead and gave him deep squeezes. I talked him off the proverbial ledge a dozen times, all to keep him moving.

Safely. Happily. He hummed and walked along at his own pace.

This is our life. This is our autism. And then the out of body experience happened.

I saw us. Clearly. A nearly middle-aged mother walking with her nearly 13 year old son, along a river. A mother keeping her son safe, holding onto him. Hugging him and kissing him often. Tickling his sides. Whispering in his ear. Holding his hand. We didn't blend in. If anything, we stood out.

He is nearly the same height as me these days. We were the same size shoes. He even prefers my hoodies.

We are no longer new to the world of autism. We are seasoned.

I felt sad for a brief second and let myself wonder how we got right here. Not knowing how to safely walk or how to talk. Wondering how we got to 40 and 12, when time felt frozen for so many years. And wondering why.

I let the other emotions wash over me, quickly. Worry. Doubt. Fear. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes.

His baby sister’s language has leapfrogged his entirely now. She helps him with his shoes.

Years ago, a follower said to me…’it’s hard when the siblings surpass them. Wait until the grandkids do too. It will level you for a bit.’

I’ve learned over the last few years, that belonging to a person with autism is never just one feeling. It’s a combination of unbelievable joy and worry and longing and wishing and hoping. And none of the emotions are wrong.

It just…is. It’s navigating a world not made for them. It’s softening and bending without breaking.

It’s wishing to live forever to keep them safe. It’s all and more.

And then Cooper touched my face and pointed to his ear bringing me back to reality. He heard a train whistle. He threw his head back and laughed with unbelievable joy. I looked at us again. And one emotion came through. Love. So much love.

We are getting older, this kid and me. It’s happening. There is no stopping it.

And I wouldn't say it's necessarily getting any easier but good golly I am grateful for him. And for the love and color he has brought into my life.

We walk. And will continue to do so. Together.

Thank you all for being here, for learning alongside us, and hopefully helping us change the world for the better.

Kate and Cooper

I’m going to be in Missouri on August 10th signing books and do a meet and greet!

Are you looking for a speaker for your next event? I have engaged audiences around the country with stories about special needs parenting, motherhood, marriage, and finding myself after my son’s diagnosis.