The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 40,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 15 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
For me, 2014 was a year of painful transition. As I look to 2015, I see a year that will be filled with more adjustments that will test my spirit. I am hopeful that in overcoming my challenges I will have an opportunity for peace. If I am lucky, perhaps even personal happiness – beyond the joy I receive from my children.
My beautiful daughter is a junior in high school and her days at home are slipping away. Soon she will matriculate to college and my little family will be reduced to two.
While I am facing a year of unknown turmoil, I refuse to let the darkness ruin the last year that I have with my daughter living at home. I refuse to allow myself to obsess over things that are beyond my control. I choose to have faith in my ability to overcome, as I always have, whatever life hands me.
On a daily basis I receive messages from people telling me how helpful my blog has been for them. Parents connect with my ability to accept and find humor in my challenges.
What most of you do not realize is that you have helped me, as well. During a year when I could have easily been swept away in sadness and regret, I had you. Knowing that thousands of people were checking in on my life forced me to remain focused on the positive. Helping you through the challenges reminded me just how strong I am – how much I have overcome.
So, as we face 2015 together, let us remember that there is happiness in every day – we simply have to focus on it.
Happy & Healthy New Year, AH
A Happy Day in 2014
It has taken me several weeks to process my emotions and attempt to compose this blog posting.
While I typically have the answers to Mike’s question, this one left me speechless – unable to respond. In my mind, all I could conjure was because you have autism. Knowing that Mike would not be able to process the cruel realities of that response, I simply tried to redirect his attention elsewhere. While I successfully redirected Mike, the incident has been haunting me.
Last month, we celebrated Mike’s birthday with a dinner party at Outback Steakhouse. A few of Mike’s teachers and classmates joined us in the celebration. If you follow my blog, you have heard me mention Mike’s special friend, Lisa.
Lisa and Mike were classmates for four years and developed a true friendship. I have taken Lisa and Mike to Disney World, movies, school dances, dinners, and all of the school functions offered. They ate lunch together in the lunchroom and on occasion would even hold hands. In the most innocent way possible, Lisa is Mike’s girlfriend.
Mike and Lisa had not seen each other for several months prior to his birthday dinner and they were thrilled to be together. They sat at the end of our long table watching YouTube videos on Mike’s iPad, both smiling – happy to be together.
As we were leaving the restaurant, Mike grabbed my arm and said, “Lisa goes to the doctor to get a baby.” The comment jolted and confused me. I had no idea what he was referencing. In my mind, I started sorting through the catalogue of movie and YouTube scripts. I was stumped and a little concerned that other people heard his comment. I tried to shush him and redirect the conversation to his birthday, but he was determined to make me understand. He repeated the statement again and held up his iPad for me to see.
On Mike’s iPad was a cartoon picture of a family. The mom was in a hospital bed holding their new baby and the dad was sitting next to her. I immediately understood what he was saying and it was as if I knife had been plunged through my heart.
Mike understands the seasons of life. He wants what everyone wants – a family of his own.
That night as I walked our dogs, the tears started to flow. How do I tell my son that he cannot have what everyone else has? How do I explain that his life is ‘different’ and NOT equal? How much does he really understand? How much pain and longing will he experience throughout his lifetime?
Today, as I sit here writing, tears streaming down my face, I still do not have the answers. The only one I can come up with – because you have autism.
