That's when I reach for my Macallan

Looking at where I was ten years ago, Jesus how did I get out of it in one piece? I've said that many times, and am projecting it all to the country now. When do the flames start? Will they signify an ending, or new beginning?

The transfer of power has been peaceful and stable, until this one. Every day another boondoggle of half truths, lies and obfuscation. All to keep control on the populace, that would be us.

So I dip into the 12 year old stock in the cabinet. Realize I'm more secure on paper than any time in my life. And wonder if I will ever sleep right again.

The key is hope

It's been a week of near total anxiety, panic attacks and general stress. Been worried a lot about doing the right thing, making sure people are looked after, making sure myself and son are looked after. Closer to being on the same page with someone that took a lot of that fear away. Add a couple of glasses of red wine and a Mets win in which they scored a 12 run third inning and yes, I felt better.

Next week should solve and create a few more issues, but situations will be closer to working out.

It's a process, there are steps. Forms sometimes get filled out wrong, a reminder of a scene from seven years ago when I ticked the wrong box. In the end though, it turned out ok. We're all here, intact, and will be for the time being.

A word is acceptance

In a lot of ways, when there's no cure for autism but a series of treatments to help your child cope with the world around him, my son is a pioneer.

He was the first patient in the Nationwide Children's Hospital Feeding Clinic. He was one of the first students in the Shakespeare and Autism program. He's thirteen now, just started seventh grade, and his whole life is ahead of him. So many experiences, so many more relationships await.

And there's always the thought of what happens when I'm gone in my head.

We're keeping him in horseback lessons, the rate is reasonable and it does not conflict with school. Tomorrow one of the local news stations is filming his lesson as part of a story they're doing on the center where the lessons take place. Stockhands Horses for Healing.

There are a number of parents who have paved the way for me (who are the real pioneers) and who have been a guide to me in dealing with my son's autism. I cannot thank Katie enough. She came in my life through Live Journal and has been a friend who is always willing to listen to me vent about shit. My friend Mary Beth has helped me though thick and thin while dealing with her son's condition and her own health issues.

After reading her book, Making Peace With Autism - Susan Senator has been a swami of information as she works though a maze of bureaucracy in her success in having her son thrive. We've never met, but our lives have intertwined like family.

They and so many others have made me realize I'm not alone in dealing with this. Despite some philosophical differences my son's Mother is terrific and none of this would be happening without the love and support of my Wife, who took on the task of raising another person's child as her own - and has put up with some crazy shit in the process.

I've just started reading the book NeuroTribes by Steve Silberman and have a feeling this is going to be the book that makes people realize that there are going to be a fuckton of autistic adults out there in a few years. Something I've been screaming about for several years now. We're not prepared for the numbers. Silberman has done some extensive research into the history of autism and from what the buzz says predicts a lot about what's going to be happening in the world of autism in the next few decades. I'm looking forward to the conversation this book is going to start.

Easter remembering

When I stand next to him now, my chin touches the top of his head. He does not stop growing. Puberty and all of its graphic descriptions is here. Something else I find myself being so woefully unprepared to face, not when he's not quite capable of letting us in on his feelings or needs.

Hints of facial hair, blemishes on his skin, morning tents, where did the time go? Was it last week when he was scooting around in the kitchen, chasing an empty jar of mayonnaise?

He still embeds himself into my side. Seventy one pounds of jutting bone and body has some very sharp spots. I wonder if he knows how tall he's getting.

His feet are stretching out so much than in another year or two he can probably fit into my own shoes.

Some days the future seems less uncertain that it is. I'm not quite sure how uncertainty translates into the cluelessness that magnifies how unprepared I feel in providing for his life as an adult, and the question I think all parents face, not just the ones of special needs children - what happens to them after I'm gone?