Dreams are curious creations. Parents often have dreams for their children, and children often have dreams of their own. Since I have lived over half of a century, I have observed that children seldom live the dreams of their parents, but they will more often than not live the morals and values of their parents. Dreams cannot be touched, smelled, tasted, heard of seen but dreams are often so real that these very concrete senses are used to describe what a dream is.
During adolescence, a parent often mourns the loss of their dreams as the youth careens forward through puberty and the licentious and libelous culture in which Americans now find themselves captured.
With a diagnosis of autism, that mourning comes much sooner. Why?
This earlier mourning is actually a gift, a gift in which the parent is invited to become a better person. Sadly, the bond of marital commitment can break under the stress of caring for, advocating for, and grieving for the “lost” child of dreams.
But the dreams still exist; they have only changed shape.
My mom thought I was the perfect baby. I was very quiet. My earliest memories are of dust motes sparkling in the sunbeam coming through the kitchen window in our apartment and the theme songs from the soap operas which my mom watched while ironing, folding clothes, and cooking meals. I didn’t talk until I was three and then I came out with full sentences, so I wasn’t like the colicky chattering daughters whom her sisters-in-law had to raise.
My family didn’t grow up with books, only music on the old vinyl records and soap operas. I have often wondered, given the taciturn silence of my engineering father and the timid quiet of my mother, how I even learned to talk, when I realized I must have learned from the television—from soap operas. How mortifying!
Along with silence, which was loud to me, I was drawn to Nature. This resulted in my adventuring off at a very young age to explore the woodlands. I have an early memory of toddling off behind the apartment towards some woods near a new shopping plaza. Followed by a memory of my mom running after me in abject fear. My poor mom!
This was only the beginning of Nature Adventures, or as I came to call them, Getting Lost on Purpose Adventures.
But I was never lost. I loved the woodlands. Each tree was a personal friend, and the water was especially wonderful. There was a lake, a reservoir, and also an energetic stream easily reached en route to and from elementary school. I saw the forest and stream as my reward for dealing with the inanity of young children babbling and scrabbling and teachers who taught unimportant lines and dots...words.
The idea here is that what is lost for one soul is found for another soul.
It was not until well into young adulthood that I felt the social stigma of being odd. And thus it was that I lost my childhood sense of belonging and of being at peace. I tried to ignore the sparkies and dappled Light, the colors swirling about people that actually prevented me from perceiving their faces.
But I belonged to the Light, to G-d. I don’t belong to another person, another human. And my birth children do not belong to me. After nearly 30 years of seeking some reality amongst the earth people, I relinquish that search and return the peace and beauty of my truth.
Which leads me back to people, to dreams lost, to good intentions but hurtful results.
The most important gift or skill to pass on to a soul living in autism is forgiveness of one’s self. The parent forgives herself for grieving to the point where she cannot see her true child. The educator forgives himself for demanding control, which can only minimally impact the spirit of autism. The therapist forgives herself for presuming deficit and lack of personhood and intelligence. They all ask the person with a different brain for forgiveness.
And the relationship changes. The healing begins. The love can happen.
Birth a new dream. Anticipate change. Love yourself and the beloved will perceive the truth and radiance of that love.
Dream in love, not loss. The colors that I see tell the truth of a person. When I can look into a human’s eyes I look for the same Stars in the night sky, the same sparkles of Light in a sunbeam, the same dappling light flirting through leaves on a summer afternoon.
Join my world won’t you? The dream is about beauty, truth, and love.
During adolescence, a parent often mourns the loss of their dreams as the youth careens forward through puberty and the licentious and libelous culture in which Americans now find themselves captured.
With a diagnosis of autism, that mourning comes much sooner. Why?
This earlier mourning is actually a gift, a gift in which the parent is invited to become a better person. Sadly, the bond of marital commitment can break under the stress of caring for, advocating for, and grieving for the “lost” child of dreams.
But the dreams still exist; they have only changed shape.
My mom thought I was the perfect baby. I was very quiet. My earliest memories are of dust motes sparkling in the sunbeam coming through the kitchen window in our apartment and the theme songs from the soap operas which my mom watched while ironing, folding clothes, and cooking meals. I didn’t talk until I was three and then I came out with full sentences, so I wasn’t like the colicky chattering daughters whom her sisters-in-law had to raise.
My family didn’t grow up with books, only music on the old vinyl records and soap operas. I have often wondered, given the taciturn silence of my engineering father and the timid quiet of my mother, how I even learned to talk, when I realized I must have learned from the television—from soap operas. How mortifying!
Along with silence, which was loud to me, I was drawn to Nature. This resulted in my adventuring off at a very young age to explore the woodlands. I have an early memory of toddling off behind the apartment towards some woods near a new shopping plaza. Followed by a memory of my mom running after me in abject fear. My poor mom!
This was only the beginning of Nature Adventures, or as I came to call them, Getting Lost on Purpose Adventures.
But I was never lost. I loved the woodlands. Each tree was a personal friend, and the water was especially wonderful. There was a lake, a reservoir, and also an energetic stream easily reached en route to and from elementary school. I saw the forest and stream as my reward for dealing with the inanity of young children babbling and scrabbling and teachers who taught unimportant lines and dots...words.
The idea here is that what is lost for one soul is found for another soul.
It was not until well into young adulthood that I felt the social stigma of being odd. And thus it was that I lost my childhood sense of belonging and of being at peace. I tried to ignore the sparkies and dappled Light, the colors swirling about people that actually prevented me from perceiving their faces.
But I belonged to the Light, to G-d. I don’t belong to another person, another human. And my birth children do not belong to me. After nearly 30 years of seeking some reality amongst the earth people, I relinquish that search and return the peace and beauty of my truth.
Which leads me back to people, to dreams lost, to good intentions but hurtful results.
The most important gift or skill to pass on to a soul living in autism is forgiveness of one’s self. The parent forgives herself for grieving to the point where she cannot see her true child. The educator forgives himself for demanding control, which can only minimally impact the spirit of autism. The therapist forgives herself for presuming deficit and lack of personhood and intelligence. They all ask the person with a different brain for forgiveness.
And the relationship changes. The healing begins. The love can happen.
Birth a new dream. Anticipate change. Love yourself and the beloved will perceive the truth and radiance of that love.
Dream in love, not loss. The colors that I see tell the truth of a person. When I can look into a human’s eyes I look for the same Stars in the night sky, the same sparkles of Light in a sunbeam, the same dappling light flirting through leaves on a summer afternoon.
Join my world won’t you? The dream is about beauty, truth, and love.
