I was more nervous than the day I got married (either time) or when I actually gave birth to Noah. More anxious. More anything really. Emotions were high and it was almost like a dream. An alternate reality really. But anyway, on with the moment. August 5, 2012. It was hot. And I don't mean "wow, I'm sweating." I mean wet shirt, hair up, LORD HAVE MERCY hot. August in Tennessee, there's really nothing but hot. Noah was less than three weeks shy of three years old. He had a way of making all the sadness go away, like air draining from a balloon. Or bath water swirling down the drain. Just a tiny, peaceful soul. No worries. No cares. Just blue eyes. He has the kind of blue eyes you can get lost staring into...Kind eyes, thoughtful eyes. And sometimes, for reasons I'm still not sure of, scared eyes. Unknowing eyes. You can see he's trying so hard to figure out a task you or I don't even have to think twice about. Those days I give extra hugs and extra kisses and extra fruit snacks.
I had asked my dad to come along with me because he'd been witness to him while I was working and he knew him well. All his quirks, all his routines, and all his habits. The people with TEIS told us that we'd be put on a waiting list to be evaluated but I really didn't think too much about it. All part of the "if I ignore it, it will go away" part of me. One of my biggest shortcomings. I do it with many, many other things. Maybe one day I'll get a handle on it, or maybe I'll just ignore that, too. The lady in charge called me and we made an appointment and she said there was a study involving the enviornment and developmental delays and of course I agreed. We made the long drive to the Vanderbilt Kennedy Center to meet with the ladies of TRIAD (The Treatment and Research Institute for Autism Spectrum Disorders). This was his official screening.
At the the time, our family was going through a rough time. Rough was putting it mildly. Rough was playing with puppies compared to those several months. Everything Noah knew was crumbling, so I knew it had to handled with grace and great care. My dad was nervous. I am much like my father when I'm nervous. Talking about nothing. That's all I can do. It was August, so, almost college football time and baseball in full swing. "How you think the Dawgs will be this season?" "Did the Braves play today?" "Is it supposed to cool down any, ever?" "What are we gonna do for Noah's birthday this year?"
We arrive almost 45 min early. The sweet ladies told us it would take about 3-4 hours. So we waited and Noah played with a few toys in the waiting room. They call us back. We go into this room with a one way mirror. Like in the police movies. And she explains to us that she's going to do some guided play with him and we can watch where he cannot see us. While he was playing we answered a lengthy questionnaire and watched some videos showing how children with Autism play and how neuro-typical children play. It was like watching Noah in those videos. After all that was over, they interviewed us for the study. They said we were done and she would gather her findings and we could come back after we ate some lunch. There was a Dunkin Donuts downstairs so we sat there for almost an eternity. My dad asked me what I thought. I couldn't formulate words. Just trying to keep from crying...
Did I ignore all the signs? Was I that stupid? Did I do this? No, no and no. Looking back on that eternal lunch break, I realize now I was scared to death. How do you raise a neuro-typical child, much less an Autistic one...We stewed a bit longer and mustered all our courage and walked back upstairs.
We went back to that room with the one way mirror and we got settled and she began talking and it was like a scene from a movie. She's lecturing on how my child is and she said she definitely believed he was somewhere on the spectrum and I spaced. Just holding back any emotion so she didn't think I was an asshole who thought I had a defective child. Knowing what I know now, it's ok to be sad about it. It's ok to be fearful of an unknown future. Will he go to a regular kindergarten class? Will he ever speak? Will my son ever tell me he loves me? All those questions engulfed me. All the "will he evers" absolutely terrified me to the core.
Toward the end, Noah started melting down (a term commonly known in the Autism universe) and at the time I really didn't know what it meant. I'd learn. Oh, I'd learn quick, too. We left, I must have sprinted to the car. And then it happened. All the tears I had ever made in my entire life fell from my eyes. I cried a river. A literal river. I cried for me. I cried for my dad and I sobbed for my Noah. I drove the whole way home just broken-hearted. And I sat on that broken heart for five days.
It took me five days to realize this isn't the end. It's a wonderful journey that I was chosen for. All the heartache didn't matter. All the tears I cried were silly. God had chosen me to be this kind soul's mother. That was my DEFINING MOMENT. The exact moment I made a promise to myself and to Noah that I would not let this become a pitiful story. I was determined to learn all I could learn and do all I could do to help my Noah blossom into the best little boy that he could. We've come a long way. Said a few words. Signed a few signs. And followed many directions. He understands more and more everyday. He is the absolute best part of me and the greatest joy of my life is getting to be apart of his journey.
That day is just a memory now. It doesn't haunt me like I thought it would. It was our turning point. A life less ordinary...
