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By Bob Maier
I feel so confused, hurt and utterly sad.
The child that I thought was mine is gone.
I want to cry.
Cry for the child who will never ask, “Why?”
“Why do the leaves turn red in the autumn?”
“Why do I have to go to bed right now?”
“Why are you crying, Daddy?”
Son, what will you be when you grow up?
I once thought you’d be a zoologist, traveling to exotic places,
Studying the rare and wonderful animals
You’ve always loved.
When you were less than a year old, sitting motionless,
Listening to mommy’s choir sing,
I dreamt that someday you would be a creator of beautiful music.
My child has been taken from me!
But that can’t be?
He’s here with me now.
He hasn’t changed.
Yet still, I feel as though he’s gone.
My child has somehow died.
The child of my dreams and hopes is no more.
I know that these feelings are normal and helpful,
That I shouldn’t feel guilty for having them.
All the experts tell me this.
But it doesn’t help the pain.
Things are getting better though.
The funeral for the child of expectations is over now.
Oh, I still visit the cemetery from time-to-time.
I put Cub Scout caps and grade-school science projects at his grave.
But I don’t spend so much time there anymore.
I have another son to love.
The one they call “autistic.”
He’s such a sweet boy.
He’s never mean to anyone, and he squeezes so tight when he hugs me.
He loves to dance with his daddy, and he gets such a cute smile on his face
when he says, “I did it!”
He’s still the same boy who loves monkeys, Peter Pan, kiwi fruit and
throwing rocks in the water.
I’m learning to love my new son, and he has always loved me.
Bob Maier works as a fisheries biologist for the federal government. He
lives with his wife, Deborah, and two sons – Karl 6, and Keith, 4, in
Edmonds, Washington. Bob wrote this poem after Karl was diagnosed with
autism at age three. Karl is now full included, with the help of an aide, in
a regular kindergarten class at his local elementary school. Recently, to
his father’s surprise and delight, he has started asking his first “why”
questions. Bob’s favorite activity is picking blueberries with his family in
the early autumn sun of the Cascade Mountains near their home. Karl’s
favorite activity is bouncing on his trampoline while watching Disney
videos.
Reprinted with permission from Exceptional Parent Magazine (previously
published in the Newsletter of the Autism Society of America, Inc.,
March-April 1994, p. 13, and “Fathers’ Voices,” Exceptional Parent magazine,
February, 1995.) Copyright, all rights reserved by EP. Access or subscribe to the EP
magazine at www.eparent.com or call
1-800 EPARENT.
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There is an
energy in us which makes things happen when the paths of other persons touch
ours.
from the Monks of Weston Priory
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