Finding Home

     I imagine mothers with neurotypical children still lose sleep wondering where their 21-year-olds are at night doing whatever 21-year-olds do, praying they get home safe and sound.      I, on the other hand, lose sleep because my 21-year-old neurodivergent son refuses to sleep.  Or rather his body does not allow him to. His neurophysiology is on hyper-alert whenever a change in routine is occurring. Never mind the meltdowns that inevitably follow.       Do I wish we had a different life, a more normal one? Yes. Many times. Especially now where in my perimenopause phase I value sleep more than ever. And my mental and emotional state teeters back and forth with my fluctuating hormones. Three years ago, a friend gifted to me Matt Haig's The Midnight Library. Since reading it, it made me realize that had I had made a different choice two decades plus before, I could have had a different life. Perhaps I wouldn't have borne children ...

      My son's first word wasn't "Mama". He was five years old when he uttered his first clear word.  At the time, we had a koi pond, and we were spending the afternoon watching koi swim around in their bright orange and white scales. Pointing to the fish, I said, "Look, Garret, fish!" He was quiet for some time and then he said softly, "ish" with the "f" so quietly enunciated that it was almost undecipherable. As it happened, part of me didn't believe it because I thought I was just hearing what I wanted to hear. Perhaps I also didn't want to believe it because it wasn't the word that I truly wanted to hear.            This life with autism throws a lot of curve balls. Or as a fellow autism parent said before, "(Our) Life is curve balls," in that it is constantly turning things on its head and more. Autism brings us to a place where knees buckle literally and figuratively, displacing one's ego because really it...