ASD Motherhood Chronicles: A Flood of Surrender

It's strange sometimes how what's meant to be an inspirational snippet can become your complete undoing.

One late summer day, I innocently watched a preview for a groundbreaking new show whose main character has autism. I was prepared to be touched and uplifted--but suddenly found myself shrinking inward as the reality of the subject matter landed a little too close to home.

And there I sat, powerless, as an unwelcome emotional dam broke open to flood the depths of my soul -- a flood I thought I'd successfully ignored into dormancy, but whose currents apparently ran far deeper and stronger than I'd acknowledged.

This particular dam goes by the name of "The ASD Mom Keeping it Together."

ASD being Autism Spectrum Disorder, of course.

And it's not a dam I pay much heed to or a subject I broach very often, here or otherwise — mostly to protect my son’s privacy, somewhat because I've learned over the years how to keep the dam mostly intact, and secretly because, in light of said spectrum, we fall on what is considered the most “manageable” end; therefore, I should be fine, right?

But with this sudden failure of my carefully-protected wall came the acknowledgement that I can't exactly save myself from the rising waters. And even if the depths of our "assigned" end of the spectrum are considered shallow, one still can drown in two inches of water without two firmly planted feet. 

So today I speak not for him, but as a mother--a mother who, in one fell swoop, was brought to her knees with a pierced heart of understanding.

You see, everything I watched in that dramatized preview is my son--could be my son.

Except for one distinguishing factor; we are not there yet.

I have the past, which bleeds with many regrets.

I have the present, in which I am always striving for better. 

Oftentimes I still fail in small, everyday ways. Many days I still agonize over the best way to help, to understand. Sometimes I do well and succeed, and I can affirm myself in doing better than yesterday.

What I don't have yet is the future.

I’ve honed my craft in shushing the what-ifs, but as it turns out they're merely packed down tightly into a dark hold of doubt, where their occasional whispers float up to feed the anxiety and play at the edges of my mind.

What if he's never able to...
What if others think...
What if others prevent him...
What if we fail him...
What if I fail him...

And though I attempt to stuff them down again, I'm still left sitting with this blank and comfortless canvas of the future--filled with uncertainty, guesses at best, fringed occasionally with hope but mostly weighted down with anvils of worry. 

Questions. Concerns. Desperation and longing--such an aching longing--to hurry up and own that critical knowledge I should already possess, to understand the necessary tools I should have already provided. To reach into the future and save him in whatever way possible from its demons. To shelter him from all the world's misunderstandings--first and foremost, my own. Those of his own family. Those of his friends. Those of the unforgiving, intensely demanding inflexible world at large.

Oh, such a longing, to pave a path where--despite the harsh realities that will nevertheless remain--I can at least secure for him some guaranteed level of self-sufficiency: to live independently, to know his worth, to apply that awe-inducing intellect with which God has gifted him, to rise above the limitations that I, or anyone else, might inadvertently impose upon him.

But I cannot guarantee any of these things. Not for him, not for any of my children. No manual exists to help me mother this most unique soul who, despite loving so recklessly, I’m humbled to admit I understand the least about. I don't have the blueprints to build what he was created for. No special toolkit to precisely direct him on his definitive path.

I have only my commitment to learning and advocating and loving the best I know how in my infallible nature, so I can—God willing—help him navigate his already-established path, hazy and hidden as it appears currently in the few feet ahead.

But, just as the doubts and what-ifs whisper into my mind, the truth still whispers into my heart.

Because when the dam broke open that day and the soaking waves of emotion I didn't know I'd been holding in hurdled forth, the truth I'd been pushing away also finally swam into view:

I must love him enough to free him -- to continually hand him over to his very Creator.

And I can trust this truth because my Savior’s own most loving mother modeled it for me. She stood in the self-same place, holding close her precious Son and looking into a hazy future—and remained resolute in the truth even as her own internal dam broke open, the sword of love piercing her heart.

Yes, this humble mother shows me the best course of action in light of a nebulous future, one potentially bearing suffering, misunderstanding, and an uphill battle for our beloved sons. In every moment, she continued to be physically present, but in her heart courageously released her holy Son into the Father's care. Not only did she walk with Him in the suffering, but in releasing Him, she was able to rejoice in His resultant, ultimate glory.

Like her, I can ponder in my own aching heart the kind of concern and hope and consuming love that knocks the wind of me--while still presenting him at the temple of trust to the Father who fully knows, who plans, who writes the blueprints, and lays before us the proper path, clearing the haze in His appointed time.

I can turn my beloved over again and again and again to the Creator of His mind and body and soul, in confidence that the future I can’t see, the plans that my mind is too limited to contrive, are the same future and personalized plans that will lead my precious love to the heights, and above all, to the same everlasting glory.