A New Beginning

Filed Under (Adam, Estee, Family, Friendship, Love, Single Parenthood, Transitions) by Estee on 15-09-2014

Adam on the move Adam on the move[/caption]

And so we moved again. It has been lots of hard work to prepare Adam for another (and final) move to our now permanent home in downtown Toronto. I decided to put everything aside to prepare him (and our new home) for the transition. This involved many social stories, visitations to the renovation site, weekly pictures and a reassurance that this was going to be a happy move. Our last move was a consequence of divorce and took its toll on both of us.

Adam had lots of positive support and a smooth summer at camp. I prepared calendars, reviewed them, we typed (talked) about moving all the time. I also made a calendar countdown to prepare with a symbolic punctuation to indicate our last day at our house; this involved letting go of four red balloons into the sky. On them I wrote: Mommy and Adam, Hope and Dreams, Bye Bye (address), and New Home.

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Before the bus came to pick up Adam early on August 14th, we stood on the driveway on the sunny morning and discussed each balloon then let them go one by one. We watched them float high in the sky – the sun in our eyes – until they disappeared. Adam’s grin was wide and he jumped up and down a few times; my heart was heavy as it was giddy to see how well this was going. Adam seemed to be coping so well… not tearful or anxious as I expected him to be. In fact, I was floored when he typed about the move, “you are home to me.” Now that’s putting things into perspective!

Soon I would let Adam get on the bus and say goodbye for two weeks. Later that day he would go to his dad’s house while I prepared our new home for his arrival. The movers would be there on the heels of his camp bus, gutting our memories – of becoming a new kind of family from the new pictures on our mantel to Adam’s art that would make it our home. I wonder if I had made such earnest preparations to avoid the severe spasms Adam encountered during the divorce move; to avoid the heartbreak we worked so hard to overcome…and succeeded.

I recalled when we made another happy move – when Adam’s father and I built a new house and Adam participated in his weekly construction with frequent visitation to the site. There was one object I had left back in our, what I will call, “Rosemary House” (to do with the location) that I had to return to obtain. I was pregnant with Adam in that house. We had found out Adam was autistic in that house and endured hours of “therapy.” I was becoming the mother I was meant to be. It was old and rickety but it had cradled precious memories that are heritage to me (sadly the house was not and has since been torn down). The object I returned for was Adam’s bassinet which was mine as an infant. My mother worked hard to refurbish it for Adam and it was hand-made by my grandmother. Heritage was at least maintained in this. A light summer storm was brewing in the late afternoon as I pulled into the driveway and Adam, only a toddler, was asleep in the back seat. I left him in the car to quickly run in and grab the bassinet to put in the back of my van. But it was hard to leave the warm inside. There is a compulsion to stay in an old empty house full of memories even when it is stripped bare except for the dust bunnies that appeared like tumbleweeds in the desert. I remember standing in our bedroom, where Adam spent most nights with us, trying to review all the memories in fast-forward. I had to pull myself away to return to Adam, still unaware and fast asleep.

Perhaps we’ve now had too many of those moments ever since. As Adam’s bus turned the corner, the movers pulled in. They worked quickly removing boxes and our house was empty again. I vacuumed and cleaned it for the new owners but also because of gratitude and the love we built in that house. I felt the pull again to linger and remember how Adam and I learned to become our own family unit; how friends became our family there and how my parents Adam and I have become closer than ever. Adam and I did it – we pulled it together in that house. As I felt the tears begin, I abruptly left. It is time to move on…go, I said aloud. Time to move to our happy house, close to public transit and bustling life on the streets… and down the hall from my parents. It was part of my plan for Adam and his future being in the heart of transit and the city for his quality of life. It was fortuitous that it all worked out. So instead of preaching, I decided to lead by example: to leave quickly and look forward while paying respect to our past. Remember the red balloon that read: Adam and MommyHopes and Dreams.

A month later I can write about it. There is more to follow.

Bring a Friend to Camp Day

Filed Under (Acceptance, Friendship, Inclusion) by Estee on 07-08-2013

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Here’s Adam with his buddy again. Inclusion and acceptance, not social or community isolation, please.

That Loving, Fellowship Feeling

Filed Under (Adam, Family, Friendship, Inclusion, Joy, Living, school, Single Parenthood) by Estee on 05-08-2013

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Adam and Nolan lunch

This is Adam’s best friend. Aside from going back to camp this summer, which he is able to do with an assistant, this is the friend who Adam spends time with. We recognized it was a real, unscripted friendship when the two of them preferred to play without words, to roll around on the floor, or when Adam would lead his friend around the house to show him things. His friend is verbal and not autistic and seems to understand and have compassion for Adam, and I believe the feeling is mutual for Adam towards his friend.

There have been lots of events this past week, most importantly the decision to send him back to the school he attended two years ago, which is not an autism school, but a school for all kinds of wonderful kids. Adam had good friendships there; we could make adaptations in the way work was presented; he could show off his skills and he especially enjoyed the mentoring program when the older kids would teach him. There, he made lasting friendships that have stood the test of time – the same friends attend his camp, and they enjoy each other’s company. His typing stories is getting stronger this summer with our daily practice, and helping Adam with schedules and learning to be patient with me (I’m a single mom… I need his patience) is another important lesson he’s learning with success. Let’s just say, I’ve made these things my mission and I find when I attend to them carefully, we generally do well.

Here’s an example: Every weekend, he wants so badly to go to his grandparent’s house. There, he is soothed and served by my mother. My father gives him strong hugs and takes him on his long walks and subway rides. How could he not love the attention and understanding he receives there? (In fact, he loves them so much, I’m going to ask the TTC if they will take us on a special learning tour). If I don’t take him and I don’t have a plan, he had been getting quite distraught with me. I decided to let it be. I broke part of my foot on Friday and couldn’t do everything he asked. This prompted a teaching moment.

“Grandma’s house,” he demanded on Saturday, looking at me with determination in his eyes. I was a bit nervous he would bite his wrist if he got angry with me; he wears a chewy tube or heart around his neck so if he’s inclined to do so, he will choose that now instead.

“We can’t go today. We’ll go tomorrow,” I said, thinking whoops – that’s an abstract concept and I’m not sure if tomorrow could wait. What is tomorrow when we want it now? I tried making a calendar, and since he can read – I simply wrote in the plan for the days. We went through Saturday, then Sunday…

“Grandma’s house,” he said again emphatically.

“Not today. First we will eat lunch, then we will go for a drive,” I declared, thinking of my foot. Adam got out of the chair, he was sitting in, and I wondered what he was going to do next. Then, he walked towards the rotary phone I bought – to gain his interest in making telephone calls, since he seemed averse to talking on the phone. He picked up the receiver and began dialing. I quickly held up grandma and grandpa’s phone-number, just to make sure we weren’t calling Australia. He put his finger in each hole and dialed each number carefully. He began speaking into the phone, without my assistance.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Adam, may I listen?” I asked, knowing that my folks weren’t likely to be home. Sure enough it was the answering machine. “Okay, they’re not home,” I said to Adam. “Let’s call grandpa’s cell phone.” I held up the number for him to follow again and dial.

“Hello” he said into the receiver. Again, I did not know what was being said to Adam, or if anyone was even there. “I’m fine,” he said again. “I love you….can… I… go…to…your…house?” he asked softly, speaking each word deliberately.

“Adam,” I interjected. “May I please speak to grandpa?” I took the phone from Adam to ask my parents where they were and indeed, they were not going to be home. I asked if they would please tell Adam themselves (they were in the car on speaker phone).

“Tomorrow” I heard Adam say softly and he began to whine. “Bye.”

I was elated that Adam made his first phone call by himself. After that, we were able to follow through with the day without a hitch. I asked him if he wanted to go for ice cream, it went so well.

“What flavour do you want…raspberry?” I asked.

“No.”

“Lemon?”

“No.”

“How about chocolate?”

“No.” In fact, if you’ve ever watched Gumby,you might recall Mr.Nopey, from which Adam has earned one of his many nicknames; you’ll just about get the right intonation and speed of Adam’s replies.

I waited for a bit. Then Adam declared…”White!” I realized that someone told me he had tried lemon once and really liked it.

“I think white is lemon, Adam,” I said.

We drove to the frozen yoghurt shop and indeed, he loved lemon.

So today, with my broken foot, I sent Adam along with his friend to Canada’s Wonderland where they shared rides and won a couple of prizes. I’ve been thinking of the typing, the relationship we share when we do it together, preparing Adam the way he needs to be prepared, and Adam’s strong desire to connect. I think when I spend more time with Adam typing and sharing, and when he can spend more time in sincere relationships that aren’t always highly verbal and difficult for him, he is a happier kid. Then, as I finished my Master’s Research Paper (more or less) today, I was thinking of Larry’s line in the movie Wretches and Jabberer’s when he speaks to Tracy about their trip to Japan and Sri Lanka, and they’re in dialogue about how nice it was that they traveled together: “Larry loops twice on that loving fellowship feeling.” Indeed, there is something about the summer that triggers these feelings -perhaps it’s simply more time – and I’ve learned how important these feelings are…all year long.

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About Me


ESTÉE KLAR

I’m a PhD candidate at York University, Critical Disability Studies, with a multi-disciplinary background in the arts as a curator and writer. I am the Founder of The Autism Acceptance Project (www.taaproject.com), and an enamoured mother of my only son who lives with the autism label. I like to write about our journey, critical issues regarding autism in the area of human rights, law, and social justice, as well as reflexive practices in (auto)ethnographic writing about autism.