Autism

I Don’t Know

It’s our first day back to”business as usual” after Superstorm Sandy blew through.  Here in this house, we were not as affected as many others, and I am vastly thankful.  We were prepared for most eventualities, mind, but were grateful not to have to turn to Survival Plan B.

Today, as I drove and walked, I saw the changes in the local landscapes.  Soil was in wave-shaped layers in the parking lot at MSG’s school. Many trees were denuded of leaves that had only last week been colorful and Norman Rockwellian in their everyday splendor.

Why were some trees compelled to lose all their beauty in one storm while others – equally colorful – kept theirs?  I don’t know.

Branches were down in local yards.  An enormous tree was broken near the ground, jagged, wet spikes of wood pointing at the road while the tree’s top landed on a lovely old Victorian home that overlooked an elementary school.

Why did that tree fall and not the one across the road, that would have fallen on wide-open grass? I don’t know.

I see pictures of the devastation in New Jersey and Connecticut. The paralyzing damages in New York.  And I look at my picture of a street littered with a month’s accumulation of dead pine needles and pine cones and I can only shake my head.

A friend’s son is going in for an MRI that will examine his brain.  My younger son had to experience that a couple of years or so ago.  For autistic children, this can be horribly traumatic and they need to do this under full anesthesia.

Why do sedatives that work on neurotypical kids not work for many autistic kids?  I don’t know.

See, there’s a lot I don’t know.  Some of these things, I might understand eventually.  Others will remain forever mysteries.  It is not my responsibility to be omniscient; I don’t have that kind of job.  There’s no one to blame for some of this stuff, no one from whom I can demand a full accounting.

All I can do is face the circumstances with a clear eye and a heart willing to do what I can, taking responsibility for what I can, and trusting that it will be enough.

Enough for what?  *wry smile* I’m not always sure about that, either.  Enough that I can come before God with a clear conscience. Enough that I can look my children in the eye.  Enough that I can sleep at night and smile in the morning.  Enough that I will live “so my yesterday leaves me content,” as my mom says.

I think that’ll be enough.