I see this same women, day after day at the park when I come to drop off D'Angelo & Adalina at the Parks & Rec - After School Program. This mom is a reflection of who I was a few short years ago: frantically coping with her perseverating autistic child in public, no time to look up, worry and sadness on her face, but a determination that is unwaving...this is a MOTHER OF AN AUTISTIC CHILD. It is uncanny, I can spot 'em a mile away, as if I'm looking at my past and my present all in the looking glass. It is surreal, really. Like being in an Autism Matrix of sorts. I've wanted to reach out to her, to tell her she's not alone, but who am I to approach a stranger, a mother with her child, assuming he has autism - what if he doesn't, I ask myself? As if I am trying to kid myself! Of course he has autism, it's clear. I still hesitate, week after week I see them there on the playground, and week after week, I don't approach. What's my friggin deal?!, I ask myself. So, Divine Guidance decides for me. I walk onto the playground, smack dab next to her today, and we start small talk. And as if God was saying "Leanna, you needed my help to be guided to her, here you go...", she opens up her mouth and says without hesitation, "my son as autism". I about nearly fell off the park bench. I have never had a mother tell me within a couple minutes of meeting me that their child has autism. "Ok, God, I get it, I see you want me to help her! Thank you!" Small talk continues, I share with her that D'Angelo and Adalina have been diagnosed and they were once where he son is now: a state of inconsolable obsession with something he has been told he cannot have, and his tantrums overpower the playground. I proceed to ask her questions, and share with her my own experiences with Early Intervention and how it helped our little ones function in public, and she is clearly lost in the confusion of the maze of this disorder and all that she has to do to seek help for little Andrew. I tell her that I am here to help her, that I also serve on the Board of Autism in Long Beach, and she begins to cry. A cry only a fellow mother of a child with autism can understand. You see, it's the type of desperation cry us special needs parents seem to display, where our eyes seek help, seek an answer, seek a way out of this unforeseen hell of a circumstance we have unwillingly been thrust upon. It's a desperation cry, through a look of exhaustion. It's a look I know well, a cry I have cried many a time. I instantly and instinctually pull this woman, this stranger to me, hugging her, holding her heart close to mine, as if in silence to tell her everything will be ok, I promise. She looks at me, as if God had placed an Angel in her path, she expresses such. "Let's talk more", I share over Andrew's tantrum screams, "when you get home, and you have a moment to think." She greatfully agrees, asks me for my number, and then my name. At the moment I give her my name, she looks up in amazement, and smiles and says, "my name is LeAnn". "ha, I'm Leanna", I reconfirm. And we chuckle in that "ah ha moment" sort of way. Ok God, we get it! Just as I'm about to leave, her son Andrew walks straight up to me, (mind you, he has been tantruming non-stop since we've been there), I bend down to him, he huddles under me like a little lost lamb, puts his arms around me and silently says a non-verbal four year old autistic 'thank you', with purely his energy.LeAnn gasped at the sight, and exclaimed, "oh my gosh, that was amazing".
Use me God, for I will help whomever, whenever you see fit for me to do so! God is SO good!
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