We are approaching the first anniversary of the J-Man’s autism diagnosis. It’s hard to believe it’s only a couple of days short of a year now. It seems like one should observe these anniversaries in some fitting way, but honestly I’m not sure what that would look like.
They say you quickly get to where you can’t remember life before your child was born. That I can remember, since being without children for 32 years gave me plenty of time to create a lot of memories. It is harder for me, though, to remember our time with him when our vocabulary was different, pre-diagnosis. Back then, we thought it was something else, or lots of something-elses. We thought a lot of things.
It has been an amazing year full of achievements and fears and celebrations and despair and laughter and joy and everything in between. It’s been a year of many big decisions, a lot of bureaucracy, major transitions, yet more paper, and learning to swim after being thrown into the deep end of a very big pool. Plus, we’re only weeks away from our new baby, and what adventures await us there are impossible to imagine.
But constant throughout – we are so indescribably proud of the J-Man. He has faced every challenge bravely, and he has accomplished things that boggle our minds. He is our greatest teacher and our pure sunshine. Most of all, he is a sweet, kind, loving, perfect soul, and he is our beloved son. He doesn’t need to do anything to impress us; he does that just by being who he is. And nothing can ever change that.
So how does one observe something that is part of our lives every day? Is there even a need to? I don’t know, but to me it does seem important. What would you celebrate on that day that would be different than any other day? We don’t celebrate his achievements only once a year. We don’t wait for just one day a year to renew our commitment to him and to helping other parents and children.
Maybe it’s that we should remember it as a turning point where our perspectives on many things changed forever – perhaps as a reminder to be always mindful of who we are, where we are, where we hope to be, and what he have to do to get there. Perhaps, too, it’s to recall the identity and experience we have in common with a broad and diverse community of people like you with whom we share this journey, and that we all have so much to give and receive from each other.
I’d love to hear from parents and how or whether you mark this day in your year. Feel free to post in the comments.
Posts that hopefully are similar:
- Diagnosis Day – 2nd Anniversary Edition
- Diagnosis Day
- The Second Time Around – Having a Child Not in Therapy
- The Both Hands and a Flashlight Manifesto
- What’s Your Autistic Toddler Like Now? (Part 2)
- What’s Your Autistic Toddler Like Now? (Part 3)
- Remembering
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Perhaps “diagnosis day” is a day to do something completely unexpected? Or, maybe it’s a day to do something that you’ve heard a little bit about but that you know, in actual experience, will be way, way more amazing than anything you could ever imagine.
We’ve never really celebrated diagnosis day at our house, though I think you’re on to something. It’s definitely, as you said, a good day to stop and just consider a bit of the extraordinary ride we’ve been on since the diagnosis was actually spoken. It was, after all, that day when we walked to the end of the diving board, scrunched our toes to the very end, bobbed a few times in the air, and then dove right in to a whole new world. Great post.
I like Elysa’s thought about doing something unexpected! Your discussion here was the first time I’ve ever even thought of “diagnosis day” as something to note and mark (and we’ve had two such opportunities roll right by, since our Joy’s diagnosis came Dec. 21, 2006). Maybe in our case it just rolls right by because it falls right in the path of the annual Christmas hullabaloo! It’s good to take time to look back and reflect though. Blogging is a nice natural outlet for that…
@Elysa – We tend to be fairly reserved, not-very-demonstrative people, so being contemplative about our journey seems like a fitting way to observe Diagnosis Day. Party hats aren’t really our style, though I think there’s plenty to celebrate these days.
As adventurous as the past 3 1/2 years have been – and even with almost 3 years of various therapies under our belt – this first year after this diagnosis has truly been that extraordinary ride. Plus, we have this blog and a stack of evaluations, IEPs, and various notes to remind us where we’ve been and how far we’ve come. That’s one positive about all the paper and stuff you accumulate in this – it’s easy to go back and see the history and remind yourself of where you’ve been and where you are.
I think the image of diving into the deep end of the pool is about the best metaphor we have for all this. It can be scary beyond description or it can be exhilarating or both or anything in between. Personally, I can barely swim, so such imagery has a fearful edge to it! But like with everything else we do, it’s a matter of perception. Does staring down at that deep end fill you with fear or make your skin tingle with excitement and adventure? I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer to that, but it does say a lot about how all this is largely a matter of how we look at it.
And it helps when others can hold on to that excitement and energy for us during those times we can’t do it for ourselves. That’s what I enjoy about reading everyone’s blogs. On any given day, things are great for some of the bloggers I read and falling completely to crap for others. And then it ebbs and flows and changes shape for all of them as each day passes. Joy morphs into despair and vice-versa. But on any given day, you see a little of everything and find encouragement and honesty and support within the whole of it. So in that way, every day turns into Diagnosis Day I suppose as we check in with ourselves and the outside world and rediscover what this is all about.
@JoyMama – That must have been rough getting a diagnosis around Christmas. Thinking about all the emotional and mental stresses we went through, it’s hard to imagine dealing with that around the normal chaos of the holidays.
The J-Man’s lack of pre-occupation with Christmas reduces some of the craziness of the season, but I can’t imagine trying to observe anything else during it. The last thing we tend to be is introspective during the holidays!