Fearless Folks … autism and beyond …

You know that saying for our autistic kids: one step forward, two steps back. Well that was pretty much Nick’s life this past month. His school had a lock-down drill (kinda like a fire drill, but scarier). Nick came home in a sort of shell-shocked state. I asked him what was wrong, but he didn’t give me a real answer. So, on a daily basis, I would sit down with him and ask him what happened that bothered him. Mind you, he was like a different boy. But I would get the same non-answers over and over again. By the third day I would not let-up, and asked him—again—what had happened; that he could tell me so that I could make it right. He started to cry, that’s how bad it was. I asked him if something bad happened at school, and he said yes. And I thought, Oh holy crap, this boy has been abused! The moment feared by all parents has come to my life….

Unfortunately, the issue with Nick is communication and that it takes him a good deal of time to tell me what’s on his mind. It can be slow—painstakingly slow—and it could take a good 15 minutes just to get one word out of him, and it’s usually the same words over and over. I know that he needs to take his time searching for the right words, while still processing the whole thing; so I knew I needed to practice patience, and a little space… but my boy was slipping away.

So that night I pushed the issue and he finally said, while crying, that school is a scary place. The next day I immediately asked his teacher what happened that was unusual and she reported that they did a lock-down drill. Bingo! I was relieved because it was an answer with a real solution. But I just wished I knew better so I didn’t have to put him through this a second time—just like last year, the same thing happened. So I told the teacher that I would need a heads-up the next time a drill is scheduled (via the principal) so I can keep him out of school. She agreed, and I told this to Nick, and he seemed to feel better about it, knowing that he will never have to experience a drill again. But it didn’t change things. Even my parents noticed the change.

Now, I’m not too familiar with post-traumatic stress disorder, but Nick seemed to have all the makings of it:

He was clinging to either his father or me, even in the house.

He could not be left alone in a room by himself.

He didn’t find joy in the activities he used to love, and laugh about.

Seemed depressed.

He had trouble eating.

I truly thought that I had lost my sweet, happy boy, and over something preventable. I started to relish the Old Nick, wishing for him to come back and thinking that this could be the defining moment in our lives—the moment that our boy had changed and had become sad and broken. Truly, this was how it was during this last month.

But little by little, and over a couple of weeks, he started to snap out of it. His smile came back. He started enjoying his favorite things again with a fun, giddy laugh! And up until yesterday afternoon, he wouldn’t get the mail for me, running just 200 feet to our mailbox—something that he used to love to do on his own. But yesterday I told him that I needed the mail, so please get it for me! He looked at me and said: “Mom, can you watch me while I get the mail.”

That was it! The mystery solved. This boy wasn’t just fearful of the alarms from the drill and the evacuation, he was afraid of the bad guy—the hypothetical bad guy loose in the world was real to him, not just a drill! 

I told him, “Nothing was going to happen to my boy, you’re fine!” He smiled and ran to get the mail—and in what seemed like record time, too! But hey, he got the mail and I believe he’s almost fully recovered. And I thought:

this was my second chance… Someone saying wake up Mommy, pay attention! You’re working with a delicate boy here; don’t screw it up!