Finding what has been lost.

Our house was robbed.

B. and I loaded up the car with all of the necessary items: 3 stuffed webkinz tree frogs, a pair of 4T red shorts, a little tikes gas pump, his ipad, a water bottle. I wonder if someone watched us get in that car with all of those items and figured we would be gone awhile. On the way home from this weekly trip to OT, the air conditioning on my van completely shut down. Most of the way home I was sweating and grumbling about how much this would cost and how we do not have the money to get it fixed so maybe the cost is a moot point. I dropped B at the house with his home therapist, they went inside while I went to go pick up the carpools. When we returned I went upstairs to check in on Ben and found my jewelry strewn about the hall (which would not be terribly unusual given that Ben gets into my stuff regularly). In this case, my bathroom had been ransacked and all of my jewelry was gone, my laptop was stolen. I called the police and paged the husband. When the police arrived we also noticed that they stole E's jewelry box as well (hope the robber has fun with all the BFF half-heart necklaces, silly bands and the friendship bracelets made from string), and that T's bank had been dumped on his bed and 2 $20 bills were missing. Stealing from an 8 year old's piggy bank is disgusting to me.

Since then I keep thinking of jewelry items that I will miss but are probably replaceable. My diamond engagement ring and wedding ring were in the mix of jewelry that was stolen and that was probably the one thing with the most monetary and sentimental value. My kids were upset. T was immediately crushed that someone would steal his money and even my promises to go to the ATM that minute and replace the money didn't really soothe his hurt feelings. I get that. E was concerned and scared, not immediately, but I caught her awake in bed that night and she asked, "what if the robber is still in the house?" which is of course irrational but that's how fear rolls.

I posted on facebook about how we were robbed and I might have put a digital frowny face :( Many friends posted supportive comments and offers of help and positive thoughts and prayers. Also many posted validating comments about how scared we must be and creeped out that someone had been in our house, and how crushed I must be to have lost my rings.

Honestly, I'm not crushed. I'm not really even sad. And even I am surprised at how blase I feel about the whole thing. I didn't post this on facebook because I'm certain everyone thinks I make everything about autism. Everything in my life *is* about autism. Five years ago, I would have been devastated to lose those rings; I would have been so upset that someone had come into my home (in my bathroom, no less) and stole my things! And stole cash from my 8 year old's bank! The nerve!

I've been trying to figure this out- why do I just not care anymore? Is it because I've been through so much trauma in the past few years that I'm just numb now? My previous interactions with the police (and for those who are counting, that would be 4 times in the course of 18 months) were about my 4-5 year old nonverbal autistic son running out of his house and I had to call the police to find him. Waiting for up to 45 minutes thinking of all the trouble he may have encountered during that time (drowning, falls from heights, drowning, being kidnapped, drowning, being hit by a car...) does have a way of numbing the senses to other less serious events, which is pretty much everything that is not life/death.

Is it because after all these years of being forced to live simply, I've just become less materialistic over time? Probably not (though that would certainly be the explanation that I'd like to claim!)

I think the most likely explanation is this: When you, or worse- your child, does not have health, no*thing* matters anymore. Over five years ago, the most important thing in my life was stolen and that was the health of my toddler boy (I almost put "growing boy" in there but actually he wasn't growing and that was part of the problem.) And since then I have made continuous attempts to find what has been lost. Regaining his health has become a full-time, unpaid job- one which I frankly had no choice but to take. Of course, he's doing better and it has been more than worth it. But he's not *all* better so his health still evades me. And unlike my rings or laptop, it's not as simple as trolling the pawn shops in downtown Durham. And the insurance doesn't cover this kind of loss, though it should. And giving up is not an option. So I keep plugging away. I keep researching on the internet and reading message boards to find new treatments. I will put those doctor visits on the credit cards and hope. I keep shuttling to and participating in therapies. I keep advocating for his needs- both educational and health care related. I will keep looking....

The Others.

This is a post about The Others. The Others is a tongue-in-cheek expression that my friend Cathy borrowed from the TV show Lost to describe the siblings of children with autism. Read her moving blog post here.
I have two "others" and they are both older than their autistic brother. These two have seen more in their young lives than many. They have seen miracles and they have seen deep ugliness, and many shades in between. Though I have shielded them from much, still they see and hear. And how could they not? The number of hours they have spent in the car, at therapy appointments, at doctor appointments, with people invading our house (oh, the number of people who visit our house!!) is innumerable. Trust me when I tell you: this was not how I had envisioned raising children would be.
My own life growing up was chaotic. I always said to myself that you have two chances to have a family: the first one is given to you, the one you are born into; the second you create from your choices. How I wish that were true! It is somewhat true. I had such a strong desire to have a happy family as an adult. I wanted to have 4 or 5 kids and I wanted for them to have a happy, carefree childhood. I knew nothing was perfect and I knew I couldn't be a perfect mom. But I was determined to have that family. I wanted it for me, I wanted it for my children. It didn't happen like that.
I cannot speak for my children but I can tell you some things that they have said:
"Now that B is 3 years old, he will probably start talking" :(
"B. hates me and I hate him, that's just how it is."
From hiding under the table at Chick-fil-a "I am so embarrassed, everyone is staring"
"Can I be the one who gives him that cookie, then maybe he will like me and stop hurting me"
"AWWWHHHH waaahhhaaa, he pulled my hair out!" *tears*
Those are all from my 8 year old, who is 18 months older than B. It's hard to believe that they are so close in age. I just had a little communication with the social worker at his elementary school the other day. I asked her if there were scholarship spots in an after school art class (and I explained that we were on a limited income and plus we spend any extra money on T's brother's therapies and medicines). She said that T. was not really on her radar. The Others should always be on the radar for school social workers. They should be on all of our radars. I was angry about it and I'll admit some of it was unresolved issues with me. Namely that this is the school that serves kids in our area, the school my daughter attended for 6 years and now T is in his 4th year there. Do they even remember that my autistic son should also be going there? Have they forgotten or was he so far off their radar that they just simply never gave it a thought?
Then there is my daughter. She will be 11 next week, going on 50. She is a wise old soul. She is patient and compliant. I wish I could have a quarter of her patience. She knows so much about autism, but is never indignant and pissed like me. She goes with the flow, she will forgive you over and over. B loves her like nobody else. And the feeling is mutual. I do think she would be this compassionate even if she never had autism in her brother because she truly came to me this way. But there is no denying that having a brother with autism has touched her and changed her mostly in positive ways.
I have two Others and I'm still learning how to deal with them, especially since they are both so different. I have to always remind myself that these Others are constantly there. They watch me and take cues from me about how to treat their brother. I feel in the future that it will be The Others around the world that make some changes for autism. They are the ones that have seen the painful side of autism, not just the Temple Grandin movie or the savant who can play piano by ear. They know the suffering and can work for a cure and treatment.