While as a family we’re virtually engaging the Camino de Santiago (and let me tell you now, it’s proving to be an exceedingly ambiguous endeavour), it is nothing next to this real lengthy, not yet finished pilgrimage with Autism.

I’ve learned, over the years that there are so many flavours of Autism. The person you may know with Autism, may not provide good insight into how our children express Autism in their lives. And that’s as it should be. I can tell you a little bit about Autism, but so much more about Caleb and Emma.

I find myself in a swirl of emotions that I need to explore because this year we mark twenty years of journeying with Autism. Now, for sure, this stupid pandemic is complicating everything, magnifying and confusing my feelings which I already struggle to identify and express. It is a backhanded gift, pushing me to sort it out so I can ‘celebrate’ and ‘grieve’ this milestone in order to continue the journey, because it’s a long journey and we’re not done yet.

In the Twentieth Year

I’ve been hiding from emotions,
afraid to have the conversation
even though I want to
understand. It feels like this:

Sometimes, after Emma’s bath
when I’m helping her dry off,
she will choose that moment
to give me a very specific hug.
It must be chest to chest,
arms first outstretched
and then wrapped around tightly.
My chin must be tucked
just so, over her shoulder.
Finally she’ll pat, pat, pat me
slowly, comfortingly,
never in a hurry, sometimes
repeating the whole ritual.
And all this – while she’s naked.

She’s a grown woman now,
so I feel awkward, amused,
uncomfortable, confused,
but I’ve never pulled away;
I choose to lean in, stay
in the ambiguity, squeezing tight
to savour the moment
as if she is newborn again,
skin soft and scented
tucked in close to the breast.

Is this joy? Is this sorrow?
It wouldn’t happen
without Autism,
couldn’t be a gift,
wouldn’t be confusing
if I knew for sure
she wasn’t just practicing
her hugs in the mirror.

This is the twentieth year
on a journey with Autism
and this is sometimes
the way it feels.

© 2020 Laurel Archer

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