There are things that parents of children with autism simply have to accept–whether they like it or not. Some things are easier to tolerate than others.

For example, my daughter will never pepper me with annoying, incessant questions, talk too much, or tattle on other children. She will never lie. She will never beg or cajole for overpriced clothes from stores like Justice because “everyone else has them.” Katie is blissfully free of peer pressure. (She also has beautiful taste in clothes.) I doubt anyone would have much of a problem accepting these characteristics.

There are other traits, however, that are not so easy. My daughter rarely touches me and will only tolerate hugs on occasion–after psyching herself up following a request. Yes, I have to ask, and I’m her mother. She shrugs me off when she falls, and never says good night without a prompt. When she gets mad or frustrated, she still sometimes kicks or scratches rather than using words. She has no true friends, and despite being an extrovert, struggles to greet others. She can’t tell me what happened at school. Or at camp. Or anywhere for that matter. I rarely know what she thinks or feels. We have never had a true conversation.

But the worst thing, by far, is that I don’t know what her future holds.

True, no parent knows what’s in store for their child. But certain details–like the ability to live independently and hold down a job–you can pretty much count on. Not so with Katie. She may be bright and athletic, but so are many kids on the spectrum and it doesn’t guarantee anything. It doesn’t compensate for the lack of social skills or fluent language. Nothing can compensate for that.

So this fall, as I contemplate Katie’s transition to middle school, I wonder what the future holds. For years I have envisioned Katie in college, but I begin to fear that this dream may be slipping from our grasp.

Then again, haven’t I always said anything is possible with hard work and perseverance?

The trouble is, hard work doesn’t seem to be enough. No one disputes that Katie struggles with academics. Why she struggles remains a mystery. Is the problem a short attention span compounded by sensory issues? Or a school system that warehouses children like Katie and only does the bare minimum? Is it my overly ambitious expectations? Or something else entirely? I want to push Katie to achieve as much as possible, but how do I know how much is enough? How do I know when to let go?

The future, which has always been murky in my unplanned life, seems even more so in recent days. I’m hoping for a clearer outlook in the coming months.

Until next time,
Cynthia