Every night, like clockwork these days, I hear the sounds of my son as he begins the cycle of waking up. It starts around midnight. Then on and off for hours, he wakes, then goes to sleep, then wakes. During these times, I feel the deepest of my sadness that my son doesn’t speak. Most people would assume that a 5-year-old should be able to call for their parent, ask for a drink of water, or say they had a
Little do we know when we are children how much of a luxury having time is. I remember saying how I couldn’t wait to be older and my grandmother telling me, “you will always be old, but you will only be young once,” something I wish I had appreciated at the moment more. She was trying to tell me that I would one day yearn for time, but mostly to enjoy the moments we have. So, when the reality struck
“I meant to tell you it’s not Global Delay anymore. It’s now a diagnosis of Intellectual Disability,” I said to the nurse as she was presenting her portion of the IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for my son. She quickly questioned, “who gave you that diagnosis?” To which I replied, “he just had some testing done through developmental at (the hospital), and he was given that when they reevaluated his autism diagnosis.” She looked at me through the zoom meeting asking,
Five years ago, with only a few hours of labor, my son came into this world. He was bigger than his sister, quieter than his sister, and in that brief perfect moment that he entered this world, our family was complete. On his first birthday, we had a big party, just like we had done for his sister. I jokingly would say it was to celebrate us as parents making it a year because, after all, “these kids will never
