Let's Talk About Anger

I had a thought hit me hard recently.

Being realistic about my son’s autism makes people uncomfortable. And I don’t necessarily know or understand why.

Let me explain.

The other morning, I was thinking about the future. About four little kids growing up. About being an empty nester. About autism. A waterfall of thoughts falling down. And a thought flitted into my brain.

I’ll never buy my son a car.

Then, I’ll never pay for his car insurance. Finally, I’ll never watch him drive away, music blaring, windows down, with a car full of friends.

He will never leave for college with his car full of stuff.

He will never pull into the driveway with a grandbaby in a car seat.

I felt that uneasiness in my stomach as I explored what I was feeling. The can’ts. The nevers. The won’ts. I felt tears gather. The urge to run away from the feelings. But I forced myself to go to the uncomfortable place that I know all too well.

Grief. The loss of an experience. An experience that I thought was promised. An experience that every other person gets to have. Except him. And me.

Lately, acknowledging the reality of Cooper’s autism feels like waking up. Slowly.

I have known about his autism for twelve years now. I am not in denial. In fact, I would say I am in active acceptance. We’ve made a life, a beautiful life, for ourselves. And at the center is a boy. But as he’s getting older, the realities of life are creeping in.

It’s as if I’m living in a daze. Still tired. Comfortable enough. But able to shake the cobwebs from my brain if I focus enough. A new realization hits me every few days. Each one feeling heavy on my heart when I first think of it.

He will never have a first kiss. I will never dance with him at his wedding. He will never buy a house.

Then denial. That can’t be possible.

Could it be true? Could he never drive? Or live independently? Never get married?

Then sadness. And finally, my old friend anger.