I’m often asked how my son Cooper is doing.
Typically it’s from a friend or family member. Someone we haven’t seen in a while.
They ask the question entirely with love.
I’ll tell them he is doing great.
That he rides a horse named Winston. And plays baseball with his brother. And is starting seventh grade soon.
I brag about how he is communicating in his own ways and typing words into YouTube and cracking my amazon password.
He adores his brother Sawyer and likes to cause trouble with Harbor and doesn’t bat an eye when his baby sister takes his treasures and climbs on his head and makes him kiss her baby.
We go to the grocery store now. Together. Just the two of us. And the paper store too.
I tell them he hasn’t hurt himself in over two years. Or me.
And that he is happy. Every day is the best day of his life.
And I share that we are dreaming of going on an airplane someday to see the whales.
When I speak about my son Cooper, I speak loudly and with pride. I didn’t always. But I do now.
I brag. I beam. I am humbled. And I am thankful.
And then they always say…in some form or another…
Is. He. Um. Er. Better?
They don’t know how to ask it.
They want to know if he is still autistic. If he always will be. And if autism will go away.
They are valid questions. Ones that I held onto for so many years.
I call it the weight of autism. It took me years to learn how to carry it correctly. How to position it and acknowledge it so it doesn’t break me.
I tell them that my sweet boy. The yellow haired one with red cheeks and a mole in between his toes.
He is and forever will be autistic. It is woven through him, unable to be separated out from the boy.
Autism is him. His joy. His quirks. His struggle. His determination. The way he sees the world. The sounds that only he can hear. Love that only he can give.
He is more himself than anyone I have ever known.
But he is growing up. He is becoming. And new challenges are arising daily.
The weight is the same. But different.
So yes, he is still autistic. And every day, he is figuring himself out.
How to communicate. Manage his anxiety. Sleep. Be. Try. Interact. Wait. Learn. Teach.
Watching him grow up has been the most beautiful gift.
He blew a whistle the other day. For the first time ever. It was one of his best days.
Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook.
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