What It's Like To Love Someone With Autism

Running.

Running after my son.

I had been in this position many times throughout his life. When he was two, he would randomly dart off in another direction, his legs moving quickly. I would chase after him, my breath coming out in puffs, a stitch at my side. I would always be thankful that I had him young because I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do this if I were older.

I would eventually reach him and gather him in my arms. Sometimes he'd giggle as if it were a game. Other times he'd screech in my ear, because it turns out he was running from something that triggered him. In many cases it would be florescent lights over head. It would especially be bad if one was blinking and humming. It got to the point where I'd avoid areas if I saw a blinking light.

He got better as he got older. The lights didn't bother him so much. But other things did. Sudden noises. Too many people around him. He'd dart off.

And I'd follow him.

Chase after him. Because that's what mothers do.

If you're wondering if the chasing stopped as he got older, well, no. Tommy has gotten better with dealing with things. Therapy has helped. I've helped. If I see him upset, I remind him to take deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Don't focus on what's upsetting you. Focus on me. Focus on your mother. I'm here.

He's 17 now and still runs. He ran the other day. My daughter wasn't listening to me. So my husband raised his voice, reminding my daughter to listen to her mother.

This set Tommy off.

He can't take it when someone is upset, even if it's not at him. Sometimes if people raise their voices he can deal with it. He'll take deep breaths.

Other times?

My husband raised his voice. My son opened the front door and took off down the street.

And I followed him.

Chased after him. Because that's what mothers do.

I found him at the end of the road, his hands clamped over his ears. He saw me and looked a little ashamed, because he knows better to run, but I also know he can't help it.

"It's okay," I said. "You're okay."

He took some breaths and walked back to the house with me.

Loving someone with autism is always being there for them, through the triumphs and the tough times. And believe me, there are tons of tough times.

But they notice when you show up. They notice when you are there, patiently waiting for a meltdown to dissipate. They notice.

Loving someone with autism is an adventure.


Loving someone with autism is knowing you will always be behind them, making sure they're okay, for as long as you possibly can.