One clear memory from Wilson’s autism diagnosis evaluation has stuck with me.
We sat in a stark room with no windows. The psychiatrist had brought out one activity at a time, then locked them up in a cupboard once they were done. I vaguely remember a baby, and a pretend birthday cake, and so many blank stares and unanswered questions.
I sat quietly in the corner as they had requested. No jumping in to answer for him or prompt and encourage him. The psychiatrist asked me to call his name from across the empty room.
“Wilson. Wilson. Wilson!”
Nothing. He didn’t even turn his head in my general direction.
He wasn’t distracted by toys, which was the reason I had convinced myself he didn’t usually respond to my calls for his attention. He just casually looked at the doctor, then around the bland room.
It truly seemed like he could not hear me. But we had already been to all those specialists for all of that testing by the time we landed in this office for this autism spectrum disorder evaluation. He could hear perfectly fine.
The psychiatrist asked me to do whatever it is that I do to get his attention at home. So, I said, “Hey buddy!” and eventually walked over and touched his shoulder.
I told her we wondered if he thought his name was “Buddy” since we called him that so often. Maybe that was why he didn’t respond to his name yet.
Hope and denial and acceptance ran murky lines during those first few years.
Fast forward five years, and I must tell you this boy doesn’t miss an opportunity to say “Hi, Mommy!” or run to the door to say “Hi, Daddy!” when he hears his dad’s truck coming up the driveway.
Change happens. Growth will happen. It may look different for each child, but we will all see it, and we will all feel it. We will all go through the phases we cannot wait to get out of and the moments we want to freeze in time.
So proud of how hard this boy has worked for all his growth.