Grieving the Loss of 'Normal'

If you know me, you know that I detest the word "normal". Maybe it's because of the Princess' autism diagnosis, but I think I've always disliked it. I've never truly believed that there was any such thing as "normal". Then again, I suppose there could be several definitions, or interpretations of "normal". The "normal" that I grieve is one of a different caliper.

Upon receiving the Princess' diagnosis, it shattered any remaining illusions that I had built up in my mind. To me at that point, "normal" was going to be watching my daughter grow, learn and try new things. I was going to sit in amazement at her ability to pick up words, watch with amusement the clumsy learning to roll, crawl and eventually, walk. I would baulk at my toddler's new found independence; while showing pride in my wide beaming smile, I'd of course secretly be wishing my little girl would remain my baby forever. After all, this is what MY peers where doing. The new mommies of little ones right around my age, in all different walks of life, from all different parts of the country.

So of course, when we received the diagnosis, my world, my dreams and fantasies came crashing down around me. I definitely have gone through many different phases of emotions since then. The most underlying of course is love for my Princess, for my Prince. I blamed myself for so long, that I almost didn't know what it was like to not feel guilty. It wasn't until recently that I've started to come out of this tunnel, and with the light that I see, comes a bit of clarity.

I've come to the conclusion that I had to grieve. I still do. Like the loss of a loved one, a diagnosis of autism-- Or any other illness or anything that affects us for the rest of our lives, for that matter-- can completely rock your world.  You have effectively killed off your fantasies of how life would have gone, could have gone, should have gone. Life as you know it, or have dreamed of it will never be the same. I now understand that I've had to go through my own five stages of grief. I'd like to share it with you, Lovelies.

1. Denial: 
My denial phase actually went on before we even received the diagnosis. I denied there was even an issue for so long. "Oh, look. She's holding her bottle now, she'll be fine.",  "She's just being stubborn, why should she if we will for her?",  "All that eye contact she gives me! Nope, no problems here!". The list can go on, but man. If denial was a river in Egypt, I would have flooded it with my additions. Absolute mayhem.

2. Anger:
Oh goodness, this one is what I feel is the most selfish of all, for me at least. Those who truly know me, know that I haven't always had the easiest of childhoods. I've never seen myself as a victim, I am a survivor. Once we received the Princess' diagnosis, that changed for a bit. I was angry! All I could see was myself and my life. It was gone. "Why me?" I'd ask myself. "Haven't I been a good enough person? Haven't I been through enough?" I was so focused on what this meant to me, to MY life, that I never stopped to think about one thing. This wasn't happening to ME. This was happening to HER. She was the one living in a body that wanted to betray her. SHE was the one struggling to get her want or need from herself and communicate it with me. Not the other way around. Once I understood this, the anger left. For the most part at least. This is one that likes to rear it's ugly head occasionally. Just to a much lessor extent these days. As soon as I was able to let the anger go, that's when the next step came in.

3. Bargaining:
Oh the bargaining. I sure did bargain. "Maybe if I had her do more tummy time as an infant...", "If only I read to her more...",  "Perhaps if I had just done...". Boy did I blame myself. I knew that this had to be something that I did or didn't do. This couldn't have happened to her if it weren't for me! It's taken time, but I do understand that it was absolutely nothing I did or didn't do. It just is. It's not because I vaccinated her, or didn't. It's not because she didn't go to daycare and get social interaction. This was meant to be her existence; and by proxy, mine.

4. Depression:
They say this one can come in many forms. It doesn't have to be debilitating sadness. We each process differently, after all. But boy did the tears flow. I cried at the Princess' loss of a "normal" life. I cried for her, I cried for myself. I cried for the fact that my world was shattered. I cried because she's the one who has to deal with it all, and she never asked for more than to exist. When the tears stopped coming, I was sad. Sad at the struggles, sad for the Prince the fact that he will most likely love his sister so much that he my decide to take care of her. When does he get to be a kid? That's one that I am still working on.

5. Acceptance:
Ah, the fifth and final stage. This is the one that it has taken me longest to get to, and I'm not always sure that I'm quite there yet. Almost. I know that autism just is, and I am learning that it is not the end all that I once thought it was. It's taken time and support to come around to this finding. I never would have come to this point if it weren't for the support of those around me. Those who loved the Princess and myself so much that they became our own cheering team. To those cheerleaders-- and I know you know who you are.-- Thank you. We couldn't have come this far without you.