I knew then . . .

Jun28

I remember laying
in the grass with you,
silently watching
the clouds.
We were still young,
innocent enough
to see the playful
shapes hidden
within them.
Our blanket was not
the grass green
from my childhood
color box,
it was not lush
and soft.
The sparse,
dry blades
sharply jutted up
between tiny,
wilting weeds.
My skin ached
where it touched
the prickly surface
of the earth,
but I did
not complain
because I was
with you.
When you
beckoned
for me to
snuggle in
close and rest
my head on your
sleeveless arm,
safe from the
discomfort below,
I knew that you
loved me then.

Crystal R. Cook

Thank you, Mom

Jun22

Four times a year, I celebrate the birth of a child. Four times a year, I jokingly say I should be the one getting presents and cake and adoration, after all, I did do all the hard work on those celebratory days in our family history. The most joyous days of my life were spent in agonizing pain, pure physical torture, really.

Don’t get me wrong, despite the unbelievable, indescribable, thought it was never going to end, pain, I look back on those seemingly endless hours of labor with happiness and pride. Those were the greatest days of my life. I look forward to celebrating the day each of my children made their grand entrance into the world, I just happen to think good ole mom should get a pat or two on the back as well.

With that being said, I want to thank my mother. Today is my birthday. Today is the day she used every ounce of strength and love within her to give me the gift of life. Today is the day she became a mother. Her entire life changed and she embraced her new identity. When she held me in her arms, the pain she’d endured faded into memory. I wish I could remember the first moment our eyes met. I cherish my mother.

Today, I celebrate her . . .

The 44th Chapter

Jun21

“Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.” – Carl Jung

Tomorrow I celebrate the turning of yet another page in the story of me. When I awake, my first thoughts of the new day will be the opening lines of my 44th chapter.

Birthdays always seem to be a good time for reflection, I tend to think of all the joys, sorrows, triumphs, and tribulations that filled the last 365 days of my life. Today, I find myself pondering the many things I’ve learned throughout my life thus far.

I’ve learned life is an ongoing process of discovery. Knowledge and exploration of all things emotional, spiritual, and intellectual transform the playground of youth. When I was a little girl, I thought once you reached whatever age it was you became a grown-up, everything you needed to know in life would somehow be revealed. What I learned, was you never reach some magical age when you know all there is to know. If anything, you need to know more and more as the years pass by.

I’ve learned each day is filled with challenges and twists and turns, I’ve learned there is no easy way to navigate through the labyrinth of life. Through trial and error we find new truths, we gain wisdom through experience, in turn we continue to grow and evolve into the person we will be when tomorrow comes.

I’ve learned it’s okay to make mistakes as long as we find the lesson in each one. I’ve learned it’s okay to fall as long as we pull ourselves back up, as a matter of fact; I realized we need to fall in order to learn how to stand.

There was a time in my life I thought I could do it all on my own, I thought I was supposed to. I’ve since learned it’s okay to ask for help. I now know there isn’t one among us who can live a full life without the aid and support of those around them. I must admit I still struggle at times, I’ve not yet learned to ask for help often enough, I’ve not yet learned how to fully accept it when it’s offered. Sometimes the learning process is long; perhaps this is why God gave us an entire lifetime to study.

I’ve learned to listen and to learn from listening. I’ve learned strength can be gentle. I’ve figured out being strong doesn’t mean putting up a wall, while it may keep the unwanted out at times, it isn’t impenetrable and too often it keeps out the good we need to keep our hearts from breaking. I’ve learned love is real and wonderful and deserving of both giving and receiving. Love is something you give and accept without condition.

Growing older has only brought me closer to the values and morals my parents worked so hard to instill within me. Faith, character, honesty, integrity, and humble pride are important companions as you travel through life. Without a road map, it can be hard to know just which way to turn when the paths are many, these are but a few life lessons which serve to provide the direction you need to reach your ultimate destination.

Every action we take impacts the way our future will unfold. What may seem to be nothing more than a shiny pebble in the road can become a mountain we must one day climb if we choose to pick it up and put it in our pocket instead of passing by. The pebble may be a moment of weakness, one wrong choice, one opportunity missed. Things in life are not always what they seem. That one little pebble may be the heaviest burden you will ever carry.

I’ve learned time is precious and fleeting. I’ve learned children grow much too fast, every moment must be treasured and used to teach and love and nurture them so they know how to pass those pebbles by when they come to them.

I’ve learned sleep is a gift, hugs are essential and respect is more than powerful, it must first be given if you expect to receive it. I’ve learned sometimes tomorrow doesn’t come and every hour of every day counts. I’ve learned sometimes the faster you try to get somewhere the harder it can be to get where you want to go.

I’ve learned not to let go of hopes and dreams, not to forget what it was like to be a child and to let the child still inside you come out to play. I’ve learned we must let go of anger or it will control us and eventually destroy us. I’ve learned there is no room for love in a heart filled with prejudice and hate. I’ve learned to give when you can and help when you should. Sometimes the impossible is possible and what seems so easy can be the most difficult. Simplicity can be complex and complexity can be simple.

Parents are gifts to be treasured and honored and revered. Grandparents are angels in waiting and when they hold you in their arms you can feel their wings wrapped around you in comforting warmth. I’ve learned never to miss a chance to say I love you or I’m proud of you or I miss you and need you.

I’ve learned sometimes we get second chances, but we should always try to get things right the first time. Failure is not optional, it is inevitable and it is a great teacher. Worry is wasteful, anger is unproductive and disappointment is fleeting. I’ve learned you must accept yourself if you wish others to accept you.

I’ve learned God is good and real and miracles happen and the only unanswered prayers are the ones never meant to be. I’ve learned faith truly can move mountains, angels exist and heaven awaits those who believe. I’ve learned acceptance is one of the greatest gifts you can give to another and I have learned ignorance can be contagious and we are the only cure. I’ve learned God truly is pure and perfect love.

I’ve learned I still have so very much to learn . . .

Crystal R. Cook

“It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.” – Epictetus

Silence

Jun21

“The silence is perfect, and yet a torment … ” Carol Shields

As a child I feared silence, it was one of my greatest despairs. In the anxious, still moments of the night I was afraid it would open its giant, invisible mouth and gobble me up.

As a teenager I loathed the suffocating boredom of its nothingness, I no longer feared the absence of sound, I resented it.

As a young adult I began to welcome the quiet. In silence, I could hear the music of my heart and found the clarity of thought in a still moment both empowering and humbling, and I was thankful for it.

“Silence is the true friend that never betrays.” Confucius

Silence now holds a bittersweet mix of emotions for me. At times, I again fear the emptiness of it whispering silently in my mind, unwanted memories can find life in the hollow voids of quietude.

There are moments I long to feel the weight of silence wrapped around me as a coat of armor, a shroud of solitude protecting me from the relentless intrusions of the day.

Sometimes, I revel in the sheer intensity of silence, the passionate way it caresses my weary brow.

There are times I suffer the deafening roar of it when no one else is around.

I cherish the silence that comes to visit on a warm, spring day, when I can hear the birds singing and the gentle flutter of playful zephyrs as they billow the curtains and rustle leaves outside my window.

My favorite type of silence is the kind broken by the innocent giggle of a child, the kind that leaves me with a shiver of goose bumps and the warmth of sweet love in my heart.

“I sometimes like to sit in the silence and darkness and listen to my heart shine.” Frank Gilroy

I love the solemn silence prayer can bring, when I hear the hushed words of angels as they kneel beside me in quiet comfort.

Silence can be a blessed gift or an unwelcome guest. It can provide moments of respite to a weary soul or set restless spirits to stir. Silence is a powerful and mysterious and wonderful thing.

“Silence is wonderful to listen to.” Thomas Hardy

I never know when it will find its way to me or when it will make its retreat. Silence has a magic that can find me in the most hectic moments of my day, it invites me into daydreams and frolics in my thoughts long enough to bring a moments peace before reality beckons me back.

Whether it be the still beauty it offers or the anxious isolation it can bring, silence is ever present . . . somewhere.

“And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know.” William Benet

Crystal R. Cook

This too shall pass, really.

Jun18

There are many mommy moments, even now, I’m not certain I’ve the strength to muster through, but then the next minute comes and I realize I survived, it gives me hope. This is not to say the journey has left me with all my sanity intact, far from it, but I’m confident I shall reach my destination with a wee bit left.

This too shall pass is a fitting mantra for mommies. I’ve said it during diaper duty and flu season, hectic mornings with missing shoes and terrible tantrums in the night. Teen angst . . . this too shall pass. Homework hassles . . . this too shall pass. Sibling rivalry at its worst . . . this too shall, who am I kidding, this one never ends.

Basically, when you think you simply can’t take a moment more you have to remind yourself you really have no choice, take a deep breath, count to sixty and voila, another minute has passed and you’re still standing. Good piece of advice here, when you take that deep, cleansing breath don’t forget to reverse it.

Sometimes you just do what you gotta do. I’m reminded of a day when my children were little. Thankfully, I wrote many memories down as they happened, you start to forget things you never thought you could as they get older. As we get older, I suppose I should say. The following is a preserved memory of one of those days . . .

I’d reached the end of my proverbial rope and resorted to good old-fashioned bribery. I had to, there was no other way,this too shall pass wasn’t doing the trick and I succumbed to the mommy bribe. I don’t recommend repeated use of this tactic but when you’re at your wit’s end it’s more of a survival technique than anything else. You’ll survive, the kids will survive. All’s well that ends well right?

I’d awoken early. I don’t mean early like, oh rapturous joy, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, my-oh-my what a wonderful day . . . no. I mean early like, three a.m. early. No sun, no birds, no singing, no nothing. Just a sprawled out child grinding his teeth and emitting other strange noises from various parts if his body.

When my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room I saw a well-worn sock on my pillow. It certainly wasn’t mine. I reached to remove the foul thing but my arm was trapped beneath a leg that was attached to a sock-less foot. I gently pushed it aside only to find another leg beneath it. I had no idea my son was such a talented contortionist. I considered sending him off to join the circus, it was a fleeting thought.

When I’d untangled myself from his wiry little limbs I was dismayed to find I still couldn’t move. My body was on strike. It pained me greatly to arise. I tried to shoo the little bugger off to his own bed but he is either a really sound sleeper or a really good fake sleeper. Either way, I was unwilling to attempt an airlift and carry him to his own bed.

I pushed him aside with both of my feet and tried to fall asleep again. Ten seconds into it I had to use the ladies room. When I returned, the little bed hog was once again sprawled out across the length and width of my bed with my blankets in a bunch around him.

Generally I look upon my sleeping angels with wonder and warmth. At that moment though, I felt no motherly fuzzies stirring in my heart. I just wanted to go to sleep and if that meant he had to be moved, so be it. I pulled the covers from around, over and under him and pushed him to the far edge of the bed. By the time I was snuggled in and comfy again it was three forty-five a.m.

I wrestled with the ever-moving child until my alarm sounded at six-thirty. The sun was up, but I was not greeted by the melodies of a sweet morning song bird. A nasty old rooster my neighbors keep was cock-a-doodle-doodling like he could actually awake the entire sleeping population of the world. I briefly pondered substituting rooster for turkey at our next Thanksgiving.

My mirror refused to look at me; I guess it didn’t want to hurt my feelings with what I would see. I decided coffee would help considerably. I awaited the brewed concoction of caffeinated joy anxiously. As I poured, I was more than dismayed to see only plain hot water filling my cup. I’d neglected to put coffee in the filter.

I knew I had to wake the kids for school, but I was afraid and so very tired. I gathered my courage and awoke them each as gently as I could, even the offending troll still sleeping peacefully in my bed. Shortly after they’d eaten breakfast they all plopped down in front of the television and began surfing for morning cartoons.

I walked right over there and turned it off! “Excuse me, but do we watch T.V. before school?” They all looked at me like I was some insane maniac just escaped from the loony bin. Before any of them could speak I realized I, in all my wisdom, had just awoken my children at six-thirty in the morning on what was to be the beginning of a three-day weekend.

I turned the television back on and cried as I slowly shuffled back to the safety of my bed. A few minutes went by and I felt movement near my feet. A little body crawled up next to mine and snuggled in. It was the troll. The same one who’d caused such misery just hours earlier had come to comfort me.

Would you believe I actually fell fast asleep? My rejuvenating rest didn’t last long, but it was a welcome relief. The day went quickly by and we where all once again tucked into our beds for the night. Sleep found me and wrapped itself around me in soft, calming comfort.

When I was awakened at three forty-five by an elbow to the neck I decided to count my losses and give up. I simply could’nt win this battle. I was sleep deprived and only semi conscious. I took every blanket off my son and yanked the pillow from beneath his snoring, teeth grinding head and took to the quiet sanctuary of the couch. I’d like to tell you I got the required rest a mother should have, but I cannot.

The clock above me kept ticking away the seconds and shouting out the hours, the refrigerator came to life and the couch began to grow strange lumps beneath me. The next morning I promised my son a dollar for every night he stayed in his own bed. He pondered it and added hot cocoa in the mornings to sweeten the deal.

I agreed. No price is too high for a good nights sleep. I thought I was in the clear but when the other children found out he was getting extras for doing what he should be doing anyway they demanded equal treatment under the Siblings Fairness Act, which states no sibling should be denied what another sibling has regardless of the circumstances.

I don’t know when they came up with the whole Sibling Fairness Act routine, but I got a chuckle out of it. I told them we would live like paupers if I had to shell out four bucks a night so they settled for the hot cocoa and we all slept happily ever after . . . for a few nights anyway.

Crystal R. Cook

Geez, melodramatic much?

Jun17

I can be just a teeny melodramatic sometimes. Well, really only in the wee hours of the morning after I’ve tossed and turned all night. I am not one for drama. Those nights though, when the day has been rough and sleep refuses to visit, I take it out on the page. I am fairly certain if too many of my silent midnight ravings were to be set loose, I would quite possibly find myself locked securely away somewhere.

Thank goodness for the sanctuary and release of words . . . Usually, I find these bits of craziness tucked into my nightstand months after they were written, I generally have no idea what led me to write them. This one though, this was after a particularly rough IEP meeting, fighting the school, again, for the services my son required and deserved. I got them, but the battle wore me down. Everything was wearing me down.

I always feel better after I spill my lunacy upon a page, the therapeutic power of the pen is magical.

Things
in my mind
are not
fit to be
thought.

Aberrations
of normalcy,
detached
from
reality,
if there
is indeed
such a
thing.

Purging
and
pouring
into the
abyss of
what used
to be.

Filling
to the brim
with bile.

The bane
of simple
existence
too much a
burden upon
battered and
bruised
shoulders that
have carried
more than
their share
of suffering
never meant
for them.

Bones crush,
hearts break,
spirits begin
to cry out
for mercy
that will
never come.

Their thirst will
never be
quenched,
hunger will
never be
quelled,
not even
when there
is nothing
left of me
to feed upon.

Darkness
will cloak
me in
the fear
I no longer
have strength
to fight,
I no longer
care to fight.

Respite and
retreat
are what I
long for now.

No more
battle,
no more
victory,
no more
defeat.

Leave me
to my misery
until the light
beckons me
to rise
and face
the battle
once again.

Crystal R Cook

10 Simple Rules for Fathers

Jun16

Fathers have so much more influence on their child’s future than they may think.

Sons learn how to treat women by watching their fathers.

Daughters learn how men should treat women by watching their fathers.

They learn work ethics, values and morals; they learn things a father doesn’t even know he is teaching. A father is not simply a man who has a child. A father is a man who teaches his child, who sets an example which will effect the future of their son or daughter.

(1) Be mindful of the tongue –

Did you know for every negative thing said to a child there should be ten positives as well? Children need praise and encouragement. They need to know their dad is proud of them so they can learn to take pride in themselves.

(2) Silence is not golden –

Fathers must talk to their children. When they come home from work, even if they are tired or frustrated, it is vital they acknowledge their child. Ask him/her how their day was; tell him/her you missed them, give them a hug. If you don’t talk to them, one day they’ll stop trying to talk to you.

(3) Let them see love –

Children often grown up to have relationships which mirror the relationship their parents had. Fathers play the most important role in these future relationships. Sons tend to treat their girlfriends or wives in the same manner their father treated their mother. Daughters often find a man with the qualities of their father, a man who will treat her the way her father treated her mother. Even if there is a separation between mother and father, the children should never see anything but respect between them.

(4) Play with them –

A father who is willing to put down the paper, the iPad or the remote control and sit on the floor to play marbles with their son or have a tea party with their daughter is teaching their child they are worthy and loved. Ignoring a child sends the opposite message. Fathers should read to their children, tell them stories from when they were a kid or just have a good old’ tickle fight.

(5) Make memories –

Many children have more memories of their mother than they do of their father. Fathers need to make time to explore the wonders of the back yard, to go camping or fishing – Anything their child can look back on with fond remembrance.

(6) Hugs and kisses –

Kids need a good hug or a pat on the back from their dads. Many fathers have a difficult time showing affection in this way, but they need to know their child craves it and needs it. A true man, a good father, can overcome his difficulties for the sake of their child. Children should see their parents showing innocent affection for one another as well.

(7) Set the standard –

A father should be no less than he wants his child to be. A father needs to model the behavior he hopes his child will one day have.

(8) The way things used to be –

A father should not limit his parenting techniques by using the fallback, ‘That’s the way my dad did it’. A father must stop and think back to how his father made him feel before he continues down that path. Perhaps some aspects of his upbringing will be beneficial, perhaps some will not.

(9) The gift of time –

What most children want is to simply spend time with their dads. Sometimes a hectic work schedule or a long honey-do list makes spending time with their kids seem impossible, but even just a few minutes of a father’s undivided attention can make a world of difference in the life of his child.

(10) Be a hero –

Fathers may not realize it, but they are already heroes in the eyes of their children, their job is to keep it that way. A father should be someone his child can look up to. A father should be someone who makes his child feels safe and loved. A father should make certain his child knows he will always be there to help pick him/her up when they fall, share in their joy when they succeed and love them without condition.

A child is a precious and delicate gift given to a father. A father is precious and valued gift given to a child.

Crystal R. Cook

I’m afraid we are broken.

Jun16

How much of how we feel about our fellow man has been dictated by the prejudice of others? Resentments from the sins and sorrows of those who have come before us remain, festering and growing in their absence. We feed them, we nurture them and we pass them on to the next generation without wondering why.

We copy and paste them into our own psyche, we adopt them without question. Sheep following an unseen shepherd to the slaughter. I too often hear people trying to justify and defend their attitudes and opinions with false arguments and phony indignation. The thoughts they think are not their own, merely recycled resentments inherited from family, friends and foes of people they may have never known.

If we stopped to think for ourselves, would we see their experiences are not our own? Would we realize we have shaped our world based on the broken model of theirs? Would we notice we’ve damaged it even more in the name of progress and change? Would we see we can’t look at our own experiences through the tainted lenses of the past?

Our country is more divisive and separated and prejudice than ever, instead of eradicating these things we despise we seem to have inflated them. Since the beginning of mankind there have been the haves and the have nots, there has been social, economical and racial prejudice. Our society has managed to twist the dreams that once were, we have found new ways to undermine each other, to build walls of separation as we pretend to tear them down.

Sound bytes and sensationalistic headlines invade our minds from the left and from the right and we choose sides, ignoring the the good from the side we’ve not chosen and ignoring the bad from the side that we have.

We say we want equality in this country, but equality is just a concept, it can never be achieved, especially when everyone who cries out for it seems to want more than the rest. There can never be equality while there are those who have no means to even stand in line to receive it.

We use the word acceptance when what we really want is applause. We fight for what we call human rights when we have forgotten what human rights really are. We fight for freedom of expression but place restrictions upon it. We fight for freedom of religion but we really want everyone to agree with our own beliefs . . . at least that is what we accuse each other of, slowly molding it into a reality.

The needs of the some have become more important than the needs of the many. We champion the rights of criminals and forget their victims. We shout platitudes to placate the masses in a cacophony of false hopes and empty promises. The ones who fight for our country are now second in line to those who invade it.

Every cause and crusade has a mouthpiece, a puppet being manipulated an unseen hand. They herald their chosen truth, claiming to speak for the masses until the masses think they really are and begin to believe what they say. We are conditioned to follow, conditioned to believe. No need to form our own thoughts and opinions, the majority rules and those who do not follow their lead are considered radicals and extremists.

We are being broken by the choices we’ve made . . . Soon, there won’t be enough to mend.

Crystal R. Cook

The Mountain – Facing my fear

Jun16

I would like to share with you a life changing event I’ve shared with precious few. It can be difficult to share some of the most deeply personal stories we keep tucked away inside of us. It’s good to share them though, release leads to healing.

Enough time has passed for me to look back upon this moment in my life and see what went wrong and how I could have done things differently . . . Live and learn. It’s my hope in sharing my story I may save even one person from suffering the horrors I did one cold, seemingly endless night, not too long ago.

I was standing before a mountain. I marveled at its height and breadth. The immenseness of it took my breath away. I felt helpless and small standing there in the shadow of it. I decided it was time to face my fears and conquer them by taking on that mountain. I was never one to take risks, to put myself out there, fear has always held me back.

I needed to do it, I had no choice. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. A test of both strength and endurance, not just of body but of mind as well. I’d put off this monumental journey for too long. I’d attempted it days before, but my irrational fears and anxiety kept me from seeing it through to the end.

I looked that mountain up and down, it was no Everest but it may as well have been. I wasn’t just doing it for myself. I was doing it for my family. They’d been so supportive, so encouraging, even after I failed the first time. They wanted this as much as I did.

I scanned the uneven surface of the mountain looking for the best place to begin. I spotted it, but as I reached and grasped the mountainside began to give way. At first I tried to remain calm but as more and more of the falling mountain came down upon me I began to panic. I had no time to think, before I knew it I was being buried. Buried alive.

When the mountain stopped trembling I began to claw my way out of the rubble. Luckily, I had the fortune of being in an air pocket, I knew the air would only last so long though. I quickly gave up my attempt at escape, afraid of collapsing the wall of debris around me. My only chance was to get someone’s attention. I began to cry out for help.

It seemed like an eternity passed before I heard the sounds of my rescuers. I extended my hand through a small hole above me and my prayers were answered when I felt the glorious touch of another hand grasping my outstretched fingers. I knew my ordeal would soon be over.

The hand released it’s comforting grip and I listened intently as a voice called out,

“Daaaaad, mom’s in the laundry pile again!”

My doctor checked me out, physically I was fine, but the emotional damage would take much longer to heal. He said I could have prevented the whole thing if I’d only done laundry earlier in the week. What does he know? Has he ever looked that beast in the eye? I think not. I’m sure Mrs. Doctor would understand.

I was certain they’d keep me overnight for observation, but he released me with a prescription for Xanax, one for Prozac and another for P.M.S (Psycho Mother Syndrome) and sent me on my way.

Perhaps I was being a bit melodramatic, perhaps a wee bit of insanity had taken over my mind, but I swear to you . . . The fear was real.

Crystal R. Cook

The day he was diagnosed – Autism

Jun15

I sat for what seemed like hours staring at the small stack of papers the doctor had given me. My tears had already stained many of the pages. I stared at the word Autistic, it stood out among the rest. I ran my finger along the printed word. Autism, Sensory Integration Dysfunction . . . the tears rained down.

We’d waited so long for a diagnosis, so long for someone to listen and understand. The tears I shed were not in sadness or despair, I was happy, near euphoric quite honestly, I was excited about what this long-awaited diagnosis meant for my son.

He will be 26 this year, I knew the moment our eyes first met there was something special about him. I realize all mothers could make that claim, but somehow I knew something was different. As time passed, it became more and more apparent there was more to my feeling than just a feeling. He was not meeting the milestones he should have been meeting. He was so different from other babies his age.

Twenty-plus years ago the Autistic Spectrum didn’t seem to exist. The word Autism kept coming to me, but the doctors dismissed the notion. When he was two, he was enrolled in a special needs preschool through early intervention. He was diagnosed as learning disabled with Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Later they added Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified. He began speech and occupational therapy and I saw change and growth, but there was still something there, right beneath the surface.

He began speaking shortly before he was five years old, before that it was mostly echolalia sprinkled with random words and phrases he was learning. When he began grade school his services stopped. They said he did not have a qualifying condition to merit the services such as continued speech and occupational therapy he so badly needed. PDD-NOS was not specific enough.

He was listed as learning disabled and placed in a mainstream classroom with modified work. I watched my son slip away and I began to fight. All the while, teaching him and working with him as I always had, but I fought the school, I fought the district and finally, in the fourth grade he was placed in a special education class and he began to learn.

It wasn’t enough though. They didn’t understand him. They forced him to make eye contact he was unable to make. They forced him to suffer through an ever-changing and unpredictable schedule and punished him when he would retreat into his own little world. I once again brought up Autism. He can talk they said, he doesn’t have Autism. He is smart they said, he can’t possibly be Autistic.

My younger son was having many of the same difficulties and was beginning speech therapy. The school psychologist suggested I had Munchausen’s by proxy and urged me to seek help. I was furious. I made an appointment with yet another doctor and within a week my prayers were answered. By God’s grace we walked into the office of a young doctor who had recently attended a seminar about Autism.

He knew there was a spectrum, he new about Aspergers, he knew how to diagnose my son and he knew what we needed. In my heart I knew he was autistic, now someone else finally understood. I broke down in his office. I tried to hold it back but the flood of emotions I’d so long waited to release could not be contained. I praised the Lord right there in that office and have been praising him in thanks every day since.

With this new and proper diagnosis my son was placed in the perfect classroom setting, he was given back the therapies he needed and deserved. He began to grow and learn once again. There would be more battles with the district through the years, but I was relentless in my quest to see he had everything he needed to thrive.

I eventually fought to remove the Aspergers diagnosis in favor of Autism, technically, he fit the diagnostic criteria regarding speech development for Autism, it proved to be a magical word and the educational and therapeutic doors which had remained closed until that point, suddenly opened.

He is a wise and wonderful young man, intelligent and witty. He most definitely walks to the beat of his own drummer and he is perfect, just as I always knew he was.

The day my son was diagnosed with autism was one of the happiest days of my life. Two of my four children have autistic spectrum disorders, I have been blessed beyond measure, it is an honor to be their mother . . .

Crystal R. Cook