It’s summer, and if you are the parent of an autistic child that means you worry about drowning.

Even without an autistic child, I’d probably fret about drowning. My aunt drowned as a toddler, and since then, drowning has been an issue in my family, a reason for shame and obsessive worry.

But as you may or may not know, the stakes are higher for those with autism. A fascination with water, poor understanding of danger, limited (or no) verbal skills, difficulty asking for help, and the tendency to elope makes for a particularly deadly combination. Every summer news articles appear across the country about autistic children who escape from their caretakers and are found in a nearby body of water, dead.

In May 2013, one such death occurred in California, near Clear Lake. Mikaela Lynch, age 9, eloped from her family’s vacation home and was found several days later in a nearby canal. She’s the child in the photo.

I learned about the missing child when Katie’s birthfather posted the announcement on my facebook page, thinking it was Katie. The photo did bear an eerie resemblance to my daughter, but Katie’s hair is much shorter and she no longer strips off her clothes in public or wears a diaper. Thankfully she is somewhat verbal and can (usually) rattle off her address and phone number if someone asks. Plus she was asleep in bed when I read the description, so I knew it wasn’t her. But I nevertheless felt a strange connection to the parents of another red-haired autistic girl, aged nine, who lived in the Bay Area.

After Mikaela went missing, numerous so-called news stories appeared criticizing the parents for their lack of supervision. Shortly before her disappearance, Mikaela had been jumping on a trampoline in the fenced backyard with her brother. Why, these critics asked, weren’t the parents watching her? The local sheriff described her as “having the mental capabilities of a one-year-old.” How would he know that? I suspect he was basing his statement on the fact that Mikaela wasn’t potty-trained and didn’t talk.

As annoying as that statement is, that’s not why I’m writing this post. The reason is the articles, like the one in The Examiner (no link as I don’t want to increase traffic to the site) and Café Mom’s The Stir (again, no link on purpose), that vilified the parents without a clear grasp of what happened that day. Or any day in the life of an autism parent. Because let’s face it, our days are a bit different than that of the average parent.

But let’s assume they were the same. No parent can supervise a child 24/7. That’s impossible. We all have to shower, use the bathroom, answer the telephone, and sleep. Maybe we have to care for another child or work or clean the house. So we do the best we can to juggle competing demands, and most of the time, it all works out. To hold autism parents (or any parent) to a higher standard is just plain unfair.

Furthermore, people make mistakes, sometimes tragic mistakes. If Mikaela’s parents did make a mistake (and I’m not saying they did), then it was simply that: a mistake. I’m fairly certain they loved their child just as much as the next parent and wanted to keep her safe from harm. To publicly trash them for negligence on the day their child’s body is found is not only wrong, but horribly cruel.

And lastly, we all like to pretend otherwise, but sometimes shit just happens. Planes crash, cars flip, people get sick, wildfires rage out of control. A bomb explodes as a man runs by. A shark bites as a woman paddles the surf. Tornados hit. Lightning strikes. A bee stings a young boy and he runs inside, forgetting to close the gate, which allows his autistic sister to run down the street, naked. The parents follow three minutes later, but she’s gone, gone, gone….

Shit happens. Children are diagnosed with autism; others die of cancer. You don’t want to think about it, but maybe you should. Every summer I worry about drowning, and every summer I read about it happening to some other family, some other child. I breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn’t my family, my child. But I also cry a little for that other family because it could have been mine. It could have been.

Katie once threw open the front door for the FedEx man and then, when the Delta ran out, chased the dog down the street, naked. She could have drowned or been hit by a car or suffered some other injury I can’t even imagine. But lucky for me there were two women walking a dog and a cop who happened to understand autism who converged at the precise moment when my Husky and my naked, nearly nonverbal child blew around the corner. I don’t want to think about what might have happened if they hadn’t been there.

I don’t want to think about it, and yet I do whenever I read a story like the one about Mikaela. I read it and feel tremendous compassion for the parents of another red-haired autistic girl, aged nine, who lived in the Bay Area.

Shit happens. No matter how careful you are, no matter how much you plan, sometimes shit just happens. So instead of judging and criticizing, please simply be grateful that this particular tragedy didn’t happen to you and say a prayer for Mikaela.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton