He's My Brother

I don't mention my daughter very much in this blog for a couple of reasons. This is about the experience of being an autism mom; parenting a child who is on the spectrum and all of the joy and tribulations that go along with that. Also, she is easy. She is a smart, healthy, well-behaved, helpful and loving six year-old. She is everything a parent could possibly dream for in a child. She does not create much drama or conflict and who wants to read about easy?

She is, however, the sister of an autistic brother. Her life experience will always be fundamentally different than that of her peers. As her mom, I do everything in my power to make sure she is not shortchanged or deprived of my attention and resources. I have spent more time taking her to playdates and birthday parties, volunteering in her class and at her school than I have done with Liam. I speak honestly to her about her brother; his challenges and difficulties, the best ways to help him. I listen to her frustration while limiting her self-pity. I've told her, "I know it's hard, but sibling relationships are never easy. My brother wasn't autistic, but he stole my money, beat me up, chased my friends away and read my diary. Does that sound fun?" I try very hard to have the most healthy relationship with her that I can in our odd situation, but the truth is that I don't know if I'm doing any of it right. Sometimes I imagine the conversations she will someday have with her therapist.

Two recent events made my heart ache for her:
1. Zoe had a friend over the other day. I was trying to get Liam to practice his handwriting and he was having his usual meltdown that precedes begrudging cooperation. "Liam, please," Zoe pleaded quietly with him "Don't do this in front of Emma."
2. I went to check on her long after bedtime. She was sitting on her bed silent and still. "Mama, " she said when I entered the room, "People never believe me when I tell them Liam's eight. Then I tell them he has autism but they don't understand. I just keep explaining it to them, but they never understand."
I told her that I know how hard it is; that I feel the same way. "But big people understand, " was her response. "Oh, no, Zoe," I said, "Big people don't always understand." I told her that if I was around, she could tell her friends to ask me. I told her there are a lot of kids who have the same issue and maybe she'd like to talk to them some time. Then I told her that if all that fails, she can simply say, "He's my brother and we love him just the way he is. Now do you want to play, or don't you?"