C is for Community

Last Thursday night I attended a "Mom's Night Out" dinner organized by a local support organization for the families of children with disabilities. Although I had been to many seminars and classes at the organization's offices, I had never attended one of these moms-only events. Why last Thursday? 'Cause I knew there would be women there who had gone through the IEP process several times and we are gearing up for our first and I had some questions for them. The kinds of questions that just can't be answered by someone who hasn't been through the process. And yes, as I write this I feel pretty sad that my reason for going was so selfish. But that's why I decided to go this time versus all the times I was invited before. Because I needed something.

When I got there seven women were already seated (I was running late). Six of them were "veterans" -- most of their children were in elementary school or being homeschooled and they had been through everything I had plus some. Then there was me. A "newbie." Son diagnosed less than a year ago, gearing up for our first IEP. Then there was "Jane." Jane's son hadn't received a diagosis yet (he was on a waiting list) and she was pregnant with her second. She said she came to dinner because she needed to talk with people who understood why she couldn't get through the day without crying. Why she couldn't get through an hour without crying.

I went to the dinner to get answers and I got 'em (these ladies are AWESOME), but I also gave them. Jane and I were seated together (pure divine intervention) and we chatted most of the night. Her son and my son are the exact same age. I sat and listened. Listened to her fears (he'll get lost in the system), listened to her hopes (that he wouldn't be 'labeled' autistic), listened to her anger (I don't know why this is happening to us). I told her I understood how hard it is to be pregnant and worried about your toddler (as I had been prior to Squish's dx), how the stress and hormones add up to waterworks at the drop of a hat, how you obsess about your unborn baby and the statistics that 4x more boys are diagnosed than girls, that siblings are at a higher risk, etc. etc. etc. And I told her that as hard as it is to believe right now, that things will get better. I also told her that no diagnosis changes who her son is. He's her son. The diagnosis is just the ticket to the help he needs.

I gave Jane my contact info and she followed up last night with an email thanking me for answering her questions and for listening. I sat at my laptop and cried. Cried because this is a milestone for me. I was able to help someone else. I was able to pass on what had been given to me. And it felt good.