Have you ever experienced a moment that completely shifted your perspective? Recently, I attended a wake for a young girl, and the impact of that event has lingered in my mind. It opened my eyes in ways I never anticipated, particularly regarding my understanding of autism.
I can confidently say that I do not truly know grief—not in the way I once thought I did. I’ve previously written about the grieving process that can accompany the discovery of a child’s autism diagnosis. Many express feelings of mourning for the child they envisioned before autism entered the picture. But looking back, I realize I didn’t truly grasp the depth of grief. My child is alive and vibrant. He’s creating chaos, enjoying his toys, and singing the same catchy tune for what feels like the hundredth time today.
Yes, he requires reminders to chew his food properly to avoid choking, and he often needs guidance to interact appropriately with our pets. He might even become frightened by the sight of a kitchen appliance. But he is here with me. We share laughter; I can sneak into his room at night to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead after a long day.
Life may not have unfolded as I once envisioned, but then again, whose life does? The seemingly perfect lives of others often come with their own hidden struggles. What I experience sometimes—a mix of frustration, disappointment, and perhaps a tinge of self-pity—is not grief. I refuse to continue labeling my journey as such. This is not a grieving journey; it’s a journey of acceptance.
Comparing my feelings to the loss of a child is not something I will do anymore. I won’t mourn for my son because he is still here with me. Yes, the responsibilities I face are more than I ever anticipated, but I recognize that I am fortunate to have my child alive, while some parents are navigating the unimaginable pain of child loss.
I’m not suggesting that everyone should share my viewpoint; I only ask that you consider my perspective. If your child is still with you, you possess a treasure that many others do not. I’m not denying the validity of your feelings of sadness or frustration—those emotions are completely normal. It’s crucial to acknowledge them. I recall hugging a mother recently who had been preparing for the challenges ahead for her daughter, only to find herself at a wake, grappling with profound loss.
This isn’t about right or wrong; it’s about recognizing when I’ve misjudged my emotions and how I plan to adjust my thinking.
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In summary, my journey with my autistic child has taught me to embrace acceptance rather than grief. I choose to celebrate his presence and the unique challenges we face together.
Keyphrase: Stop Grieving for My Autistic Child
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