It Never Ends...

I remember wishing so hard with all my heart that Dylan would talk to others when he was 2 or 3. I remember each step of getting him to talk to others. We started out so long ago using his hands to get a "yes" or "no" answer. One shake up and down on his hand for yes. A shake to the left and right for no. We used this technique until he could more quickly process yes or no answers to our questions. I loved the thrill I felt when he first said someone's name to get their attention. I vividly remember the first time he said "mom" to get my attention in conversation. I remember cheering Dylan on to say more than one word to someone else. When two words came out of his mouth, the joy inside of me was unreal. I sat outside the doors of hours and hours of speech therapy, eagerly awaiting the next report. I remember when he first said "I love you" or "I miss my mommy!" These were amazing phrases to a boy who struggles so hard to get the words out.

Somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, I thought that if we could just get him to talk, this whole autism thing would be over. That I could breathe again. That life would be easier. That my pain would ease. That some sense of normalcy would return to my life. And I don't know why I thought talking was a cure? Getting him to talk was one iddy biddy hurdle in this whole journey. And I mean one REALLY small hurdle.

Now that he talks, he sometimes talks over and over again about the same topic. He repeats things he wants to talk about and struggles to change the subject. He only wants to talk cars, houses, computers and nothing else.

Yet, getting him to talk is just the beginning of so many awkward situations and hard tasks to handle. Talking didn't make everything click together in his brain magically. I really hoped it would. I don't know why I assumed it would. But I guess you can't blame a mom for wishful thinking.