The intention of commencing this blog was to give myself a space in which I could explore this new reality of being the parent of a child on the autism spectrum.
What I’ve been experiencing in the past ten weeks has been far more raw, more time-consuming, more overwhelming and more confronting than I quite expected (even with my exceptionally dominant reality gene), and I’ve been astonished at my reluctance to put into words what has been unfolding in our lives and in my heart.
It could be that I’ve been resisting the requirement to craft and hone that comes with presenting experience in a written format. It could be that whenever I’ve been keen to share a thought, a development or an anecdote that I’ve just been too exhausted to string the words together, or that I’ve made the judgment that there are more important things to be doing with my time.
I suspect, too, that my by-line “a memoir in the making”, while meant descriptively (and not overly-earnestly), has ended up suggesting to me that I should present my thoughts in sequence, or with an overarching sense of order. And, of course, this phase of my life is a jumble, a chasm of terrors bridged by rainbows of triumph, with an ocean of appointments, advice and administration creating unexpected ebbs and flows in the rhythms of my life.
It’s late (crazy late), and I should be sleeping…..