The Year of Living Hopefully

This one is kind of hard to write. When I started this blog, I committed to being honest, open, real and vulnerable. I want to show the good times and the bad, the hope and the despair, the struggles and victories and defeats as my family makes our way through this important year, all the while focusing on hope. I want to tell the story of my daughter and me mostly unfiltered. But there are some topics I am somewhat reluctant to share. I may not share everything. I’m not sure. There have been some shockingly difficult times, and I don’t want to hang my sweet daughter out to dry. But some topics are too important for me to omit. This is one of them. And it has to do with my friends.

I live in a truly special community in Northern California. It’s a magical hamlet, and its residents come here for the natural beauty, the proximity to San Francisco, and the stellar school system. Parents here are committed to their children’s education and well-being. I have made the most wonderful circle of friends: smart, strong, caring, funny, talented, creative, kind women who share my values as a human being and as a parent. This is what you get where I live, for the most part. I am so grateful.

This is my message to them:

The most important thing you can do for me is to care about my children. I know you do. You are always there to help with a ride or bring us food after my surgery or let me cry on your shoulder. You appreciate the quirks of both my kids. You seem to get them, and even if you don’t, you love them anyway.

But there is another thing I wanted to ask of you all this time, and that is to include my child. To have your wonderful children reach out to her once in awhile. It’s good for my child, and it’s good for yours. Befriending my autistic child, or even just reaching out once in awhile, benefits both kids. My daughter will feel a sense of belonging, and your child will learn empathy and compassion. I’m not saying your child isn’t already empathetic and compassionate, but special needs people are a unique set of individuals who require more from other people, more openness and acceptance, more selfless friendships.

My son is three years behind my daughter in school. When he started kindergarten, she was in third grade, and she had passed the point where kids invite the whole class to birthday parties. For the first couple of years, I could use that to explain the wide chasm between her social life and his. As time went on, my son still had quite a few friends and an active social life, while Maddie had really only a single friend who wasn’t social at all (I don’t know if it was her or her parents who were at the root of that). So every weekend my son was having multiple parties and play dates, and Maddie was at home. She likes her alone time much more than my son, who is by nature a very social person, but she is also very social at heart; she just lacked the skills required to make a social life happen.

I have many friends with daughters her age, who are intelligent, fun, hard-working, talented, social girls. How I would have loved for them, once in awhile, to invite her over or include her in a party. I understand she could do odd things once in awhile, but nobody could change that. The one thing we could have changed was how she felt in the world at large, particularly at school. Although, come to think of it, perhaps more practice in social situations with neuro-typical kids might have helped curb those behaviors. I will never know.

It’s important to note that the girls at her elementary school were very kind to her. From her first day in kindergarten, my greatest fear was that she would be bullied. She was such an easy target back then, partially because she probably would have been oblivious. But because of my lovely community and the parents here, the girls in particular seemed in fact to feel protective of her. She was petite and emotionally young, so I suspect a maternal instinct a large factor. I was so grateful!

But I never asked my friends to help me with her social life. I just couldn’t. It seemed like too much to ask. Also I guess I hoped people would figure it out for themselves. And that’s not fair to anybody. How is anybody without a special needs kid expected to know what Maddie would have needed? I’m not saying nobody ever did anything (a big thank you to those friends!). But for the most part, once she started school, Maddie and I were isolated when it came to socializing with other kids.

Even Maddie’s birthday parties were terribly stressful for me, so much so that I would procrastinate and procrastinate until maybe we were three months late. Why? Because I was terrified that nobody would come. And then my sweet party-loving girl would know something I wasn’t ready for her to know. I wanted her life to be smooth and happy and for her to feel like she belonged. What a frightening proposition to have a failed party announce so dramatically that she didn’t in fact belong.

So here is my message to you: If you have a friend with a “different” child, please consider having your child befriend them in some small way, even it’s a something small and often, or big and infrequent. These things add up. It helps the parents, the special needs child, and your child too. Your child will learn that “different” people are worth knowing, that noticing the needs of other people is important, that selflessness is a virtue that you encourage and admire.

I’m beyond grateful for the friendships I have. I can’t believe my good fortune that I am surrounded by this truly inspiring group of people. I hope you all have that, too. And I hope that you can do what I didn’t, and ask for what you want for your own child. Don’t be afraid. You might not get it, but on the other hand, you might.