The Parking Lot Prayers of an Autism Mom
I sat in the parking lot at Wyatt’s school this morning, hands on the steering wheel, bawling my eyes out, while trying to steady my breathing before I opened the door. Wyatt goes to a school specifically for autistic children. You would think that would make it easier. And for many families, maybe it does. I watch teachers walk children in with what looks like ease. Backpacks on. Hands held. Quick hugs. Smooth transitions. That isn’t our reality. Our mornings begin long before the parking lot. They begin with me catching him before he runs toward the road. They begin with coaxing, negotiating, redirecting, and sometimes physically carrying him to the car while he fights a world that feels too loud, too unpredictable, too overwhelming. By the time we pull into school, I am already exhausted. When someone comes outside to get him, it is never a simple drop-off. He throws himself to the ground. His whole body says no. Sometimes they/I have to carry him in. And I stand there, heart ...