The day my autistic son wandered

from school
Julie M. Green July 1 at 9100 AM

(iStock)

At exactly 1134 p.m., my heart stops. Itʼs a Friday. The voice on the phone
has just spoken words no mother wants to hear: “Mrs. Green, your son is
missing.”

Instead of racing — which would be cliche — my heart seems to stop.

“He wandered from the playground at recess. We have staff out looking for
him. Iʼve called the police.”

“Iʼm on my way,” I hang up and sweep the counter for the car keys. I could
say that my stomach falls out (another cliche), but really, I have zero
awareness of my body. Nor do I have any recollection of peeling out of the
driveway and driving to the school, about three miles away.

[We had a great day at the park with our autistic son, until someone called
the police]

The absence of feeling in those minutes is what stands out. Hands

clenching the wheel, the signaling, steering, the braking and changing lanes
— it all happens with me, without me. All I can picture is a boy clutching a
big blue ball to his chest as he crosses a busy overpass. The blue ball he
insisted on bringing to school with him this morning because itʼs Fun Friday.

My 10-year-old — a gangly preteen in Adidas tracksuit pants — has autism.

He may not remember to look both ways before crossing the road. He will
probably talk to strangers, even though weʼve had that “talk” a thousand
times. He will tell them a bunch of things he shouldnʼt and forget to tell
them the things he should. He will believe anything you tell him. He is oh-
so-vulnerable, my boy. He looks just like any other kid his age. He is nothing
like any other kid his age. His difference is not a blessing, but itʼs not exactly
a curse, either. Itʼs complicated.

Letting go is tough, especially when your kid has autism. You grow
accustomed to your child needing extra support. You come to depend on
your kid depending on you. It can be hard to know when to let go and how
to let go. Of course I want my son to live his own life. I want him to be
independent — as independent as he can be. I want him to grow into a
capable young man who can take pride in his accomplishments, even if I
donʼt yet know what those accomplishments will look like for him. It could
be going to college; it could simply be going to the corner store to buy milk.
No parent knows what the future holds or how their kids will turn out. What I
do know is that letting go is the hardest, most necessary thing I have to do.

When my son, Jackson, was diagnosed with autism, and later ADHD and
anxiety, all the developmental milestones went out the window. He charted
his own course. A tortoise in some respects, a hare in others. Over the
seven years since his diagnosis, Iʼve come to learn that it doesnʼt matter
how or when he gets there. I must trust that he will get there eventually. But
without the usual markers on the road, we are driving blind. How can I know
when heʼs ready to learn a new skill or take on a responsibility? Most
children follow the curve and develop alongside their peers. They naturally
progress and move through several rites of passage, from sleepovers to
walking to school alone.

Jackson does not walk alongside his peers. He has never once asked to
have a sleepover. He is quite content in his orbit, thank you very much. He
has a couple chores. Many broken dishes later, he can now set the table
and empty the dishwasher. After numerous spills, he can pour his own glass
of milk. I have fought the urge to swoop in from the sidelines, to help or
simply take over, more times than I can count. “Back off,” I have chided
myself. “You donʼt know what he is capable of unless you let him try.”
Neither does Jackson.

Not long ago, we traveled by train to visit his grandparents. At some point
he needed the bathroom.

“I can go by myself, Mommy,” he reminded me. “Iʼm a big boy.”

Ten is a tricky age — too old to be accompanied, yet too vulnerable to go it

alone. Public bathrooms are a source of incredible anxiety for parents like
me.

"Go and come right back,” I said, biting my lip.

As soon as he left my side, I felt sick. I stared at the lit “occupied” sign at
the end of the train carriage, a million thoughts hurtling through my head.
What if he needs my help? Will he remember to wipe properly and wash his
hands? What if he canʼt unlock the door?
He's fine, a voice breathed in my ear. He's taking too long, another voice
interrupted. Something must be wrong. You should check on him now.

I fidgeted in my seat, willing the “occupied” light to go off. Willing my happy

boy to saunter down the aisle back to his seat. Back to me.

Still, Jackson didn't come.

You learn from doing. I know this. As a sheltered only child, I know better
than most. At 22, I headed to the United Kingdom with nothing but my
naivete and a backpack. Thousands of miles from home, I was living in
hostels and looking for work. It was terrifying and exhilarating. With each
passing month and every setback, I grew up. I had no choice.

Now, I am repeating parenting patterns with my own only child — putting

the “mother” in “smother.” Letting go goes against every instinct I have to
protect my innocent boy from a world that doesnʼt understand (or fully
accept) his way of being. What if Jackson gets hurt? I would never forgive
myself.

Just then the light went out and the door flew open. My boy marched down
the aisle, a huge smile on his face.

When I race into the school office and see him sitting there, my heart
kick-starts.

“Mommy,” he says. There is that huge smile again, lighting up his face. He
sits across from the principal, still clutching the blue ball to his chest. “I was
walking home. Arenʼt you proud of me?”

At that moment, because I canʼt speak, I crouch and pull him into my arms.
He doesnʼt protest. When I bury my face in his soft brown curls and hold his
face in my hands, I notice how doughy-soft his skin is. He still has baby
cheeks. For now.
Formerly a featured blogger at Huff Post, Julie M. Green is a freelance
writer whose work has appeared in the Globe and Mail, Todayʼs Parent, She
Knows, CBC Parents and more. She lives in Toronto with her husband, son
and bulldog.

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