So, that afternoon in November, I left the doctor’s office with the paper in my hand. Just like our regular visits to Dayton Children’s Developmental Pediatrics, I planned to discuss where things were at school, our medical issues, vision, hearing, therapy, allergies and everything in between. After we finish the visit, every time, we have to have our date. We eat soggy hospital french fries, stab a bendy straw in a carton of chocolate milk, and look out the window at the bright and shiny playground.
It’s not over at that point. We have to stop off in the gift shop to gather up 5 pieces of candy in a little paper sack. Today I decided I’d get candy, too. He took on the role of server, as he told me to tell him what I’d like and he’d add it to my bag, as long as, of course, I didn’t select anything with peanut butter in it. He has figured out that, in addition to all the baby kittens and rabbits in the world that he loves because they are so “keeooot,” he is very allergic to the peanuts.
We dropped our coins off at the counter and each grabbed our own little paper bags, when his little warm hand slipped into mine. “Mission Accomplished!” he declared, as we rounded the corner towards the garage. My little hero-loving boy, what a joy you are to me.
I fastened him into his seat as he started into his third piece of candy. “Turn on the hero movie, mommy,” he told me as he has a 1000 times before. He was quiet until he fell asleep heading down 75. It was then that I looked over to the white piece of paper on the seat next to my purse, and these words lifted off of the page….DIAGNOSIS: AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER. Along with 3 other things. This was the first time in the 3 years that we have been in treatment that the doctor told me it was time that she put the diagnosis down on the paper.
In the office, I was thinking, “Information is power. With this diagnosis, treatment can only get more precise and better. What’s a diagnosis? He’s the same kid I brought in here….same abilities and disabilities. I am totally fine with this.”
In the afternoon sun now alone with my thoughts in the quiet van, I began to battle the Momness. The Momness that worries about tomorrow. That wants the universe and then some for her little man. Even as I replayed our conversation over in my mind, I was grabbed by fear. What about tomorrow? What about 10 years from now? Will he be able…? That’s when I started to cry.
It was then that I knew that he didn’t have to be able. Neither do I. God will be. Drake calls it Superpowers. He says he doesn’t have his powers yet, but Dad does. I know without question that from the time he was formed in the womb, God knew him, had a plan for him, and made me to be his mother. And I remembered then that His grace is sufficient for me and for today. Not for tomorrow. He has overcome HUGE obstacles already in this life. He is a hero. On a very practical level, this diagnosis makes life easier for our family – it is easier to get him the resources he needs, and I don’t have to constantly explain why he can’t do what he can’t do.
As I put my hand in Dan’s and we watch him from the couch, dressed as a superhero and dancing carelessly in rhythm to the worship music playing through the speakers, I raging love this boy. As an adoptive mom I can testify to the power of a forever family. The amazing gift of Momness that He alone can put in our heart to love one that was not our own overwhelms me.
I cannot wait to celebrate every day with this boy, and when he is grown and you see what God has made him, celebrate, and give Him the glory. In the mean time, when you see a small blue-eyed boy dressed in multiple hero costumes at the same time, holding five more heroes he made out of Legos in one hand, and eating fruity snacks and chocolate milk with the other, remind him what a superhero he is, and that his Super Power is inside of him.