What I wouldn’t do to leave the kids with someone else for that appointment time.  It would be so good for them to have an hour off from the intensity of Ronan’s care.  They’ve sacrificed much of their childhood without realizing it.  I’m not going to tell them they’ve missed out on some of those moments; that wouldn’t be fair to them.  Instead, I tell them how grown up they’ve gotten and how responsible they are.  I also remind them often how wonderful they are to Ronan and how helpful they are to me especially when I need an extra pair of hands they so lovingly offered.  Those are the moments that I wish could go on forever.

When we escape a little bit of our reality while waiting for Ronan’s therapy time to be up, I feel like we’ll be able to move forward with whatever Ronan brings us once he walks out of the therapist’s doors.  Most of the time Ronan is content as he leaves a session—he stays on task after he’s gotten a great report of yet another skill accomplished.  Other days, Ronan’s behavior has gotten in the way of his chance to be successful.  He becomes the bull in the China shop ready to knock down everything and anyone in his path.  No matter how he re-enters the space we have claimed as ours, he’s greeted with smiles from me and his siblings.  We gather whatever it is we’ve brought in and quickly leave so as not to draw attention to whomever in our party might have snapped while trying to wait patiently.  As quickly as we had clown car into the place, we clown car back into our vehicle.  We’re off and ready to cross off the next To Do item on Ronan’s lengthy list.

I forget sometimes that my typical children see and hear everything that I do with Ronan like when I groan, “OH, NO! Ronan, we don’t go in the bathtub with our clothes on!”  Or, “Ronan!  Get off that chair before you fall!” (as he tries to climb up to the refrigerator to get a DVD I’ve hidden).  It’s not just that they hear me correcting Ronan.  They also see the frustration on my face or in my body language as I fix what has been messed up or broken multiple times that day. 

The siblings try to intervene, but Ronan is strong.  Even though he’s shorter than they are, he isn’t always gentle when it comes to getting out of his way.   I don’t cover up Ronan’s disabilities, but I don’t want his brother and sisters to become reluctant to offer help when Ronan isn’t cooperative.  I always want my children to have compassion and love for their brother even after his unpredictable behavior takes over.  I never want them to tire of the constant he is.

Thankfully, these siblings see all of who Ronan is and find more reason to celebrate than be resentful.  Even as the little sister who scowls at the length of time it takes to sit through yet another speech session, these kids encourage Ronan as if he were running a race in the Olympics.   Formerly disgruntled younger sister sits next to Ronan in the car and is more than thrilled to yell the good things, too.  Last week it was, “MOMMY!  Look! Ronan signed ‘day’!”  Her eyes grow wide, her smile filled the backseat and her infectious giggle was proof enough that she was one proud little lady. 

Ronan’s brother was just as proud when he beamed, “Ronan let me use his iPad, and he didn’t want it back!”  The iPad has become *the* object of choice for Ronan so for him to give it up to a sibling to play with it was a huge good deed.  Ronan’s gotten to learn some stellar turn taking when offering the iPad to his brother.  Sometimes that turn is only a second or two long and is followed up with a rough and tumble iPad wrestling match between the boys (in which I always root for Ronan).  But, turns are to be taken around here, and Ronan must learn how to do that.  It isn’t always with appreciation that he does this, but it is part of the life we are preparing for him. 

All these things I do for Ronan, and subsequently his siblings do for him, give us as a family another chance to hope for healing, recovery and a change to our reality.  Our reality sees things no one should see.  We experience heartache, pain and pitfalls that have required years of therapy to reverse.  It’s not what I had hoped for as a parent.  Many days I wish those someones who refuse to believe Ronan was vaccine injured could please stand in my shoes to see and feel exactly what it is he and we go through. 

Even if it was for part of just one day, I’d wish away a lot of what our family has gone through.  I’d do that even though my children have learned incredible skills because of their brother—they’ve had to work through their emotions of frustration toward a sibling who can’t control himself yet.  They’ve been scarred with trauma adults probably couldn’t handle.  I’d try to give back to my typical children the extra time Ronan’s therapy has taken from their activities.  

I’d want to be somewhere else and with other people instead of coordinating the meetings, appointments and conferences I’ve had to because of Ronan and his great needs.  But, to change all of that isn’t my reality, and I don’t think it ever will be.  I wouldn’t wish away the chance to grow as a parent and to be proud of my children as I envision their successful futures—futures being shaped by their brother.  I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with this family of mine even though we have lived through great emotional pain along this journey.  I wouldn’t give away any of the knowledge I have gained either.  Vaccine injury, autism and the many special needs topics I’ve encountered are things I want to one day tuck away, far, far away in a closet never to be seen or heard from again.  Even though I’d rather have not have had to learn about any of it personally, all of it has contributed to the parent I am today to Ronan and to all of his siblings.

In my head I might want to be elsewhere, but I think I am in the right place at the right time with the right people.  Most days it would be good to be somewhere else—somewhere where there is only healing and recovery.  Fortunately, because I know what happened to Ronan and how he got this way, I will find that somewhere else.  I know that on the other side of what happened to him there is a future to behold—a future full of achievement and success.  It might be still be years away, but one day at a time I will get Ronan to that future. 

Cathy Jameson is a Contributing Editor for Age of Autism.