Dreams of our fathers

When the downpour of duress struck me that spring, I found myself searching for anything to hold onto that could carry me through my day.  

I attempted less time on my phone or computer because it led me to window upon window of Autism.  Quite frankly, I wasn’t ready to read anything or even comprehend any reality of where my thoughts or feelings were.  

I thought my perspective on life was in check because I could say the right things.  However, with the notion that my son was different than other children, I questioned my own ideas on what normal or different even meant anymore?

Everything is simple until you have to walk in a different pair of shoes.  The struggle was I couldn’t forecast what shoes I’d be walking in the next morning, nevertheless years down the road.  The uncertainty of it all drained me and I was sinking.

Would I be able to have any conversations with Sawyer? Could he and I play catch outside? Would he ever be able to use the bathroom himself? Would he have friends? Could he fall in love? Could he articulate what love even meant? It was a windfall of emotions and self pity. These were my thoughts that I refused to share out loud.  I felt awful for even thinking them.

Not for one moment did I say “why me?” There wasn’t a “why us?”  I didn’t want a magic pill that I wanted him to take to change him.  I was just a dad that didn’t envision the deck of cards that we were given.

These were my feelings within a matter of days.  It was an internal struggle as his father. I had dreams for someone who I didn’t know or understand.  Those were all mine and I felt broken up about it.  

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