Tonight I failed.
I gave it my best effort.
I still failed.
Living in the world of Autism, changes are rough, especially those last minute, whoopsie-wish-I'd-have-known-this-sooner type ones.
It doesn't take much. It could be something simple, like meal plans changing, a favorite tv show running late due to a ball game, a dvd skipping. Or, it could be a bit more involved, like complete evening routine changes when a respite attendant who comes often has a family emergency that he had no control over.
Now, changes like that don't do much for most folks. Things change, no big deal, we move on and think nothing of it.
Not kids with autism. Not kids with MR. And not kids with both of those together.
Mr. Kevin had his disappointment, but at the surface acted like he was handling it well. He watched a dvd, played a bit on the computer, ate supper--all normal activities. Then, the time rolled around when his beloved attendant arrives.
Mr. Kevin all the sudden had to find a particular toy that he hadn't seen in weeks. It was absolutely pertinent that he find it or the world would collapse. So between serving supper, cleaning up myself, and standing on my head looking for a tiny tiny toy amongst literally hundreds of tiny tiny toys, we search for this toy with a flashlight.
Hubby and I had already discussed him going to church as it'd be good for him to see friends from there that are his age. He cheerily agreed, then started above mentioned search.
Anxiety builds in him slowly.
At the appointed time to leave, we all head to church. Mr. Kevin decides as soon as we get to the parking lot that nope, he's not going in. It's only 30 degrees and dropping, and windy as can be with a wind chill advisory for -20 tonight.
I tried. I talked with him. I listened to him. Nope, not going in.
So we drive the highway back home. Once home, he refuses to get out of the car. It's only 30 degrees and dropping, and windy as can be with a windchill advisory for -20.
With sly trickery (pretending to ignore and be on a phone call inside the house where he could see me in the window) he comes in. He destroys his room. Throws books. Yells. Screams. Draws a fist toward me then reconsiders when I use a tone reserved for drill sergeant moments. Throws more toys. Tells me he hates me. I stay quiet through it all, simply letting him get his anger and frustration out. This isn't our first rodeo, nor will it be our last.
After a while, he wears himself out and puts himself to bed, and I wait until he's calmed and pray with him. At a safe distance.
I tried to cushion the changes of the day.
Some days I wonder if the cycle will end. Will what seem like small changes to us continue to send him reeling? Will he ever be able to handle changes as they come, or will they always affect him like this?
Until that answer comes, hubby and I continue to love him, continue to support him, continue to be there. It will be worth it all.
One day Mr. Kevin will see Jesus, and he will have the peace he needs. It will be worth it all.
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