by Jennifer Overton

Am I insane?  I hang up the phone.  Yup.  Definitely lost my mind.  I have just informed my mother that we will be coming for a visit.  For TEN DAYS. Call the loony bin - I'm on my way!

It's not that I don't love my family.  That is not the issue.  The issue is that a cross country trip is stressful in and of itself, but add an autistic child to the mix and the stressometer, well, it doesn't register that high.   A trip to Grandma's house?  Oma's house in our case.  What have I done?!

I can call back and renege.   But she was so thrilled.   How naive of her. Had she forgotten the last visit?  The disastrous long weekend last year, the first time he had been home with me since his diagnosis?  Did she really not remember the birthday party where he had screamed at the top of his lungs when everyone sang, pressing his head between my knees, then raced over to the table and knocked the entire chocolate fudge cheesecake - my sister's favourite -  to the floor?  Or the next day when one of his young cousins unwittingly got too close, and my son put his hands around his neck?

I remember.   The emotional roller- coaster.  The frustration and embarrassment about his strange Behaviour. The pain at seeing his autism outlined so hard and cold against the warm background of my "normal"
family.  Catching those glimpses of pity in my siblings' eyes.  All weekend I fought the impulse to run into my mothers arms. I was afraid that if I gave in, I would never stop crying.

(sigh)  Even reliving the pain of that weekend,  I don't pick up the phone to cancel our plans.  No matter what the emotional cost, he should know his extended family.  And I want to see them.  We have all grown a lot in the past year.  Maybe I am even ready to be held in my mother's arms, and not be consumed by grief.

And so the weeks of preparation begin. First,  I Email siblings and lay some ground rules:  Respect his sensory sensitivities. Don't approach him quickly.  Never extend a hand to him or try to hug him.  Don't crowd him. Talk quietly to him.  Avoid sudden loud noises or warn him that they are coming.  When we come to your house, please allocate a room where he can go when he feels over stimulated.   I balance my fear of seeming demanding and overbearing with the realization that they will appreciate some concrete ideas on how to avoid a repeat of the last visit.
 

Having prepared those on the other end, I begin working on the home front. My son is a visual learner and  reads way above age level,  so I make calendars with our itinerary.  I write stories about our upcoming trip: who we will see, where he will sleep,  the plane ride.  We  role play and act out scripts that are aimed at giving him strategies to deal with
problematic situations.  Our  house is plastered with  pictures, calendars and stories about our upcoming trip.

The day for departure arrives.  I pack carefully.  His most comfortable clothes.  His most beloved toys and books. Everything possible to reduce
his stress level.  His electronic Wheel of Fortune Game is a must for the plane. Check. I don't care if it drives the other passengers crazy - believe me, if they knew the alternative, they would thank me.  Head phones. Check.   Favourite snacks. Check.  OK. Had I done everything? Oops, pack those social stories and an erasable calendar.  Check.

Ok. Across the river and into the woods, to Oma's house we go. . . .

I try not to show my nervousness.  What if he shrieks or tantrums  in the airport or on the plane? I half consider pinning a sign to his back that reads  I CAN'T HELP IT - I'M AUTISTIC .  Nah - LET  people think that bad parenting is the cause of his behaviour if they want to.

We board the plane, my son wearing his headphones. The stewardess sweetly asks, "Some- thing wrong with his ears?"  I just smile and say "yes."  When we are seated, my son asks , "Stewardess, may I have a pillow, or a combination of two pillows?"  He gets two.  So what if she thinks he's a bit odd.  I guess she doesn't watch game shows.

We arrive at Oma's house, the plane trip having been relatively uneventful. Thank goodness.  But we can't relax yet.  We are by no means out of the woods.

Each of the ten days we are there, we spend a great deal of time preparing him for upcoming events, and guiding him through difficult times.  It isn't easy. And he has his meltdown moments, but with quiet coaching they don't last long. Yes, I have more than one pang of resentment at seeing my siblings with their comparatively easy children. Yup, my heart pinches to see three of his cousins  on the floor in a cousin sandwich, and my son in the corner, oblivious to their infectious giggling.

And no question that he is autistic.  His greeting upon entering people's houses is "Do you have the game show network?" and then he lists all the hosts of all the game shows and recites the entire 24 hour Game Show Network schedule.  Sure, this is weird, but they are amazed to see him, a
kid in Kindergarten,  creating Wheel of Fortune Puzzles with their scrabble tiles and playing out the game. And he makes us laugh.  One evening at my sister's  he declares: "I don't like my dinner, unfortunately.  May I have some dessert?"

I am so proud of him.   He quietly excuses himself when things get too much.  He remembers to say "you're too close" when a younger cousin runs up to him.  He and I  share secret looks across the room of "I did it" and "You did it!" And he amazes us when he plays  Hide and Seek with his cousin!   No prompting, no cues. Spontaneous.  Fabulous!  So what if he helps his cousin into the hiding place before covering his eyes to count - he is playing with another child and loving it!  "Let's do it again!"  he shouts. I simply beam.  Speechless, wanting desperately to hug him.  But I can't. So I am content to quietly beam, and give him lots of verbal praise.

Then comes the day to leave and go back home to Halifax.   He doesn't want to leave!   "When will I come back to Oma's house?" he asks.  Then suggests, "I think maybe Friday."  Sweetheart.

As we stand at the door saying our goodbyes, my autistic son runs up to my mother and gives her a hug.  "Goobye Oma."  We all blink back a tear. Now it's my turn to hug my mother.  I walk, not run, into her arms. Smiling, not crying.  She whispers how proud she is of me.  We stand in a long embrace, our damp cheeks pressed together.

We turn and walk out the door, on the way back to Halifax and our life. All of us stronger for this journey. We have gone over the river and  through the woods, and out the other side. Safely to Oma's house.

The way seems clearer now.  Not as scary.  We can do this again.
 

Jennifer Overton is an actor, writer, and Mom to autistic, hyperlexic six year old Nicholas. Jennifer, David, and Nicholas live in Halifax.