Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I was wearing a long denim wraparound skirt and a red v-neck t-shirt. Evan was dressed in plaid shorts from OshKosh B'gosh and a matching shirt. My mom was wearing a crisp white linen blouse and matching black linen slacks. The creases on purposes, no wrinkles on accident. This was Evan's first appointment with the child neurologist. The first of what would be many, with my mother by my side. We sat in Dr. I's office, after awhile we stopped trying to keep Evan from turning the lights on and off...Dr. I. said to just let him be. I don't remember everything that was said during the appointment, the exact things that we talked about. What specific examples we gave, the medical history of my son that seemed to hate me. Couldn't stand my voice or touch. Flipped switches for hours, constant repetition. Objects like fans and vacuum cleaners held in such high regard, they were given goodnight kisses instead of me. I didn't cry when Dr. I. told us it was autism. My mom did. I just kept focusing on my skirt. I kept thinking that if I could look just one tiny bit as beautiful as my mom then I wouldn't drop my basket. But there was my mom crying in the hospital parking lot, in her outfit from Talbot's probably, and there I was in my skirt from Target not shedding a tear. Later that night my parents watched Evan, as they often did. I went out with my girlfriends to the bars. Wearing that same skirt. Only when the safety pin that held the wraparound together came undone and poked me, did I begin to cry. This post was originally published August 25, 2008 at www.thehousethatoshbuilt.com Osh is the mother of Evan, soon to be 15, and in his own words, Autastic...Autistic+Fantastic. She also has five cats. You can judge her sanity at www.thehousethatoshbuilt.com for yourself.
Posted by Osh at 6:08 PM