I'm just not ready to let him go

Some people say autism is a gift. Some adults living with autism even say if there was a cure they wouldn't want it.

I don't understand. 

The fact is: My son, who was a beautifully bright-eyed, interactive, and happy one year old, was taken from me by a disease for which there is no cure, at age two.

Clinging to the "bargaining" stage of grief, we fought and fought and fought the battle. We bought silly expensive therapy videos online that promised our child would start talking within weeks. We invested in supplements that others had claimed "did wonders" for their autistic child. We drove him to a therapy center 90 miles away for early intervention that we knew would help him beat this before he even started school. We would've lassoed the moon if someone had promised it would take his autism away.

Like any disease, he experiences cycles: hints of promise followed by periods of regression. A severe regression last Spring caused him to be removed from school and placed back in a full time therapy program. Just weeks ago we were hopeful that his therapy hours could decrease and he could return to his class, but now the cycle is coming around again and the therapist has recommended an increase in hours instead. 

I'll admit it: I've been in denial. But it's becoming more and more clear to me now that this therapy is palliative. We are beyond early intervention, and although I always knew it was a long-shot, it is now clear that his prognosis for truly beating autism is poor.

Part of me says, "I give." Autism wins. 

But I'm just not ready to let him go. 

Autism is not a gift. Waylon is a gift.

And he is my hero.