As Mother’s Day approaches I think about these moments, when different people, often strangers, unexpectedly touched my heart with words or gestures of acceptance, or even appreciation, of my son, who has autism:

I still remember how, 30 years ago, the secretary at the pediatrician’s office took my tiny but very energetic son into her arms. She noticed that I was not able to hold that wiggly creature on my lap any longer. Robert was so surprised that he calmed immediately, and we could see the doctor.

I remember how almost 20 years ago, Mrs. Scott, his teacher’s aide, was gently patting his cheeks, repeating, “It is OK, Robert. It is OK.” The approaching tsunami of a tantrum disappeared without a droplet of protest.

I remember, from just a year ago, the ladies working in a Polish deli calmly assuring Robert that everything was OK while simultaneously cleaning broken glass and spilled beet juice from the bottle that fell from the shelf when Robert tried to get another item behind it.

I remember the guide at the lighthouse in Truro giving Robert a high five.

I remember the hygienist taking Robert to clean his teeth and telling me that he can do just fine without me.

Because Robert doing fine without me is my biggest wish and the most needed blessing.

Maria Hrabowski

Difficult.

Confusing.

Painful.

Impossible?

Useless?

I haven’t been writing because I stopped teaching Robert. I realized that teaching him took away the time from his own learning through observation, through connecting images that surrounded him, through efforts to make sense of the life as it was given to him.

I hoped to give him the opportunity to figure out the things related to his and our family lives. And he did. But the ideas or rules that he discovered on his own were often not compatible with ours. Still, he rigidly stood by them protesting any attempt to lessen or modify them. Difficult and Confusing.

1.He gave himself a right to enter the bedroom of each family member without even knocking. At the same time if I went to my daughter bedroom to talk to her or to my husband’s office, Robert protested loudly. I was not allowed to.

2. He insisted on getting rid of items, he considered useless. Since in the last few years his father didn’t wear ties, he gave them all to charity. That was not a problem. However, when he he insisted on giving to charity all of his father polo shirts and vests, we felt angry but powerless.

3.When he noticed that large monitors in his sister’s office were not used, as she mostly worked with laptop, he calmly packed them in the boxes they had arrived, and put them in the garage.

4.Without my knowledge, he cleaned my desk of all the papers. However, he didn’t throw them away and he knew were they were, when I asked him, to retrieve them. They were in the folder on the shelf next to my desk. Not a bad solution.

As Robert continue to assert himself, I do feel slight discomfort of loosing control. At the same time I feel sort of pride and sort of relief.

I just didn’t know how to write about it.