The question I get asked the most from others, after I tell them that Jasmine has autism, is, “How did this happen?” Good question.
There is a lot of research out there, some that is helpful or interesting, some that is more theory than research, and some that is just plain whacky. Sifting through it all can be quite time consuming and tedious. The current thinking is that it is a genetic anomaly that is passed from the father. Beyond that well, there’s a reason that all these research studies exist.
As a parent, your initial thought after receiving your child’s diagnosis is, “What did I do wrong?” People who are in the know, or parents who have been in this world a while, will tell you over and over again that it’s not your fault. They’re right of course, but convincing yourself of that is no easy feat. I spend a lot of time wondering what I could have done differently to change our outcome, and to prevent it from happening to Jasmine’s sister, Laurel. In fact, just this morning I made a list in my head of likely culprits. I think most parents probably do this.
On her first day of school, Jasmine just walked right in to class with her teacher, Justine, like it was totally no big deal. She was all confidence.
“I had a c-section delivery.” “I had a vaginal delivery, but with drugs.” “I couldn’t breast feed.” “We gave our kid vaccines.” “I had a glass of wine while I was pregnant.” “We drank tap water.” “We didn’t drink tap water.” “It’s the pollution.”
The list is really endless, and in the end, none of that matters.
You see, Jasmine is here, now, and she has autism. The why’s of it no longer make any difference. Even if it was my fault, something that I did or should have done, it’s too late now. Those things, the causes, those are important for people that don’t already have children. Those studies will impact my daughters’ children. For me and my children, my focus needs to be, and mostly is, getting treatment and getting help.
All of that is easy during the busy day time hours, when I’m driving Jasmine from one pre-k to another, going from study to study, working with her at home, sitting through training programs, and doing the endless research on different methods of treatment. Eventually though, I’m left with a moment or two of quiet, when my mind wanders back to, “What did I do?”
I hope to one day get past the point of guilt and blame, and to be able to keep my eyes looking forward. I suppose that’s part of acceptance. So where does that leave me? Back to the Blame Game.
Different, Not Less 