Happy Mother's Day to moms who sacrifice so much

[Guest guest]

May 11, 2008

Mother's

Day: is Un-invited

is a Maine

autism mom, founder of the autism social networking site FoggyRock.com, and daughter of

Cale of Unlocking

Autism.

Her

piece on her experience this Mother's Day really brought home to me the

continuing quiet sacrifices that autism mom's make daily, hourly, for

the children that they love so much.

Happy Mother's Day to you

mom's who have joined the club that none of us wanted to join, and

earned the title "Loving Mother" in a way that few have.

Happy Mother's Day .

Un-invited

by

Wynn's

teacher gave me a head's up about the Mother's Day luncheon planned for

the next week. She wanted to be certain that I set the time and date

aside so that I wouldn't miss the festivities. Maybe she also knew that

Wynn would need some extra time to process the event. Well, he did.

The

first time I mentioned the party he screamed, "No! Don't come!". When

the official invitation arrived in his lunch box, he screamed, "I said,

don't come! I'll be really mad if you do!" When Wednesday finally

arrived, and I brought up the topic of the big day, he screamed, "You

mean you have to come? It will ruin my day!"

Now, for the best

part of the last 13 years, I have gone out of my way....certainly, I

have ignored, looked the other way, justified, set aside, left alone,

let go, avoided, adjusted, adapted, hesitated, rotated, navigated and

even subjugated.....all in an attempt to NOT ruin my son's day.....so I

knew that attending the luncheon (never mind that it was in my honor)

was out of the question.

I would again, do everything in my power, not to ruin an otherwise good

day.

Wynn

just hasn't understood, ever, the subtle inferences of social

occasions. Why would Mother's Day be so important when his own birthday

only means he can have a dessert or two? He attaches no significance

whatsoever to holidays, ceremonies or traditions. If I showed up at his

school at 12:15, as the invitation advised, I would simply be someone

being somewhere she didn't belong. If he handed me anything, it would

be in an attempt to move me quickly to the parking lot and back into

the oblivion where I exist until he steps off the bus and asks for

dinner. In his world, the one he daily constructs to bring meaning into

his chaos, he has no place for luncheons, and no room for an annual

display of sentiment as dictated by Hallmark or even Congress.

So,

I meet briefly and covertly with Wynn's teacher on the front lawn by

the parking lot. She hands me a hand-painted clay pot overflowing with

budding violets that she promises Wynn planted. There is also a package

donning tissue paper and a card that I open in the car. In a curly font

are the words of Dickinson, probably written for her own worried

parent.

"A mother is one to who you hurry when you are troubled".

If

Wynn's calls for "more hot" water in the tub, for more lima beans in

his plate, for snuggles and songs, for stories and jokes, for answers

and action are ushered my way, which they are, then I guess, luncheon

or no luncheon, I know, at least, that I am, in no uncertain terms, his

mother.......And knowing that is celebration enough for me.