Autumn Calvert

Category: Autism

  • Careful vs. Courageous

    Careful vs. Courageous

    Dear State of Alabama Legislators,

    I am a rule follower.

    I have never been arrested.  I have never had a speeding ticket.

    I am a rule follower.

    Careful is the best way to describe how I act and react to most situations.  This all changed yesterday.

    I began to notice the difference between “careful” and “courageous” in the leaders we all hold in high regard.

    Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was not a careful man. All of his movements were strategically planned and discussed with those whose values he held to be wise.  With the information he needed, and the drive for justice he held dear, he courageously ventured out into a dangerous world.  He was not careful.  He was courageous.

    Mother Teresa was not a careful woman.  She moved so powerfully into the world of poverty that we all now know her name and respect her work.  With God as her guide and her own sense of justice, she courageously marched against the cycle of poverty.  She was not careful.  She was courageous.

    Mahatma Gandhi was not a careful man.  Through non-violence, he moved powerfully against injustice.  He used his own body through fasting to demonstrate his opinion of justice for his people and religious harmony. Gandhi was not careful. He was courageous.

    Whether you agree with these people and their opinions or not, you have to admit their commitment to justice and peace was admirable.  Why is it these people found a way through the noise into our common history?

    I believe it was their drive to improve the quality of life for all who found themselves in a place of injustice.  They were not fearless.  They were courageous.  They were not careful. They were wise.

    I am a rule follower.  I am careful.  However, I have a son who needs his mother to stop being so careful and to start being courageous.

    I ask you to do the same.  Do not let your fears lead you into a place of commonplace.  Allow your inner courage to find a home in the power the people of Alabama have placed upon your shoulders.

    My son no longer needs you to be careful.  He needs you to be wise.  He needs you to seek justice. He needs you to be courageous!

    Approve the original Leni’s Law without amendment.  Allow my son to be a part of “justice for all” with his debilitating conditions. Please, do not force our family to move away from parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and friends because he is unable to get the care he needs in the State of Alabama. Please. Do not force us to move to a new state without even knowing if this medical therapy will work for our child. Please, fight for justice for our son and the many other sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters in the State of Alabama.

    The time has come to stop being careful.  The time has come to be courageous.

  • Inevitable

    Inevitable

    It was inevitable.

    “Autumn, why does Asher talk so funny?”

    The little girl who spoke these words was not some stranger’s child. It wasn’t a kid from school or church. The little girl who spoke these words has my heart. She has since before she was born.

    Cristine (a.k.a Cris) and I met many years ago when my husband and I had a small group/church ministry. We became fast friends. Both of us somewhat weirdo hippies but smart, capable, and funny as hell. Yes. This was to be a lifelong friend.

    I called my friend the first of April, 2009, to tell her the big news.

    “Guess what? I’m pregnant!!”

    “Guess what? Me too!,” said Cris.

    The next 9 months resulted in nausea followed up by (or during) ravenousness hunger. Neither of us could take looking at the word “egg”, and, on one occasion, her husband emerged from the car carrying a bag of throw up. We proceeded to take out the food bar at the restaurant where we had met. Ahhh…good times.

    We delivered 4 days apart. Asher, my son, was born first. Cris brought me cookies. (I had to return that favor when she had her son.)

    As our children began to grow, no words were necessary for the differences in development. Ivey began to talk and walk and sing with ease. Asher required physical, occupational, and speech therapy. The challenges began to mount for Asher as Ivey soared. It was a bittersweet script.

    Fast forward to the day my friend proved to me that she was the wonderful person I thought her to be, and I was reminded of how important one little girl can be.

    “Autumn, why does Asher talk so funny?”

    Ivey stood before me with her inquisitive eyes. Obviously, it irritated and confused her that Asher could not speak like her.

    I had no idea what to say. As I sat, mouth agape, stunned and absolutely terrified of a 4 year old, Cris says, “Ivey. Asher and his mommy have a secret language. They only teach their language to the people they love the most.”

    My cue, “And Ivey…you are one of those whom we love the most, so I will help you learn our secret language.”

    I vowed my eternal friendship to her that day. A fantastic mommy is raising a gifted young woman to be kind, loving, and unafraid to have a big heart.

    Thank you, Cris, for loving my son. As I always say: The best way to show me your love is to love my son. Plus, you taught your child to love my son. Truly, the most precious gift I could ever receive.

    Thank you, Ivey, for being honest and just plain wonderful. I remember the world before you were born. It was boring and absolutely no fun. Then, this little sparkly girl who can do anything blasted her way in and changed everything. You and Asher made your Mommy and me smile bigger and brighter than ever.

    Yes. It was inevitable, but with a dash of love, a giant amount of wisdom, and a sprinkle of sheer goodness, I was shown something beautiful: acceptance.  This was not just your everyday, ordinary acceptance.  It was not the kind of acceptance people like to throw around to seem like they are good people.  It was real. It was true. It was beautiful.  In a world where I fight daily against the onslaught of judgmental people, that day, I was able to breathe. My son was loved exactly as he was.  No changes necessary.

    Give the gift of acceptance to someone today.  You may be the only person who will.  It might just change their life.  It may just change yours.

  • When Dreams Die

    When Dreams Die

    We always had a Christmas program. Every year, our children’s choir director, Ms. Mary Evelyn, would bestow upon us our musical. Somehow, I always ended up being Mary. I was ok with that because Mary always had a solo. Of course she did! She WAS the mother of Christ.

    We rehearsed and rehearsed the musical until we had it down pat. It was fun and exciting every year. This was the beginning of my life–long passion for music. I have never completely stopped playing music. When I found out I was pregnant, a new dream began…the dream of having a child who would do these same things.

    TODAY IS NOT YESTERDAY

    Today, our church had the children’s choir sing. I sat and watched the children of our church sing and speak lines they had memorized. They did a fantastic job. But, as I sat there, my heart felt sadness I could not stop. It was running water of sadness that enveloped my whole being: my son was not part of this choir. I realized: My dreams of parenthood were completely squashed. Totally torn down the bone, and then, the bones of these dreams were pulverized. My son could not ever do what those kids did today. He cannot stand in one place, he tries to sing, but without words, he has no guideline, he cannot memorize parts, etc. He just cannot do this.

    As most of you know, Asher is autistic. Amongst his myriad of autistic behavior, the most prevalent is his inability to speak. People ask, “Is he non-verbal?” No. He is verbal all right. You just cannot understand one word coming out of his mouth. He tries, though. He works so damn hard.  I don’t think I have ever seen anyone work so hard for something in my life.

    Our friends’ son walked to the microphone and sang his solo perfectly. I tensed.

    “WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO MY CHILD?”, I asked God in an angry tone. What I felt in my spirit was frightening.

    “Autumn, dear, I believe you meant to say, ‘Why did you do this to ME?’”

    My entire being was silenced.

    A FAMILY AFFAIR

    Autism, as I always say, is a disorder the whole family experiences. In this case, Asher would have been absolutely miserable in the children’s choir. The way he feels things, sees things, hears things, smells things is on high alert at all times. Though my heart would soar if I could get him involved, he would be miserable.

    LIFE OR DEATH?

    What happens when dreams die? I pondered this throughout the rest of the morning. It seems to me Jesus told us what happens when dreams die.

    New dreams are born.

    Dreams, you didn’t even know you had because they were hidden by all the fluff, are resurrected. They are deeper and far more meaningful.

    After church, as I was talking with someone when I heard, “MAMA!”. I turned around to the brightest smile connected to the greatest heart I have ever known: My little boy. I picked him up and wrapped him in my arms. As he hugged me back, the agony of the death of my dream was gone.

    When you are a parent of a child who has challenges (and lets face it, who is COMPLETELY different from their peers) you watch your dreams die often. In that death you find it fertilizes new dreams. Our new dreams are of our children thriving inside of their challenges and facing their fears and conquering them.

    I watch my child fight his battles everyday. Sometimes, he wins. Other times, he does not. His biggest worry is not whether he has his parts memorized or whether he has his lyrics down. No. He worries he cannot get his point across. He worries if he has made someone mad or sad. As I said, he has a great heart.

    NO MORE SAD TEARS

    My time of tears and sadness are over. I will, again, grieve the death of my dreams. It will happen. I am not perfect. I will, again, be reminded of the new birth of new dreams. Dreams bigger and brighter than any of the other dreams I previously grieved. Why are they bigger and brighter?

    Because…I see God’s love every time I look into the big blue eyes of my baby. God adores me. God ADORES him.

    My son is my dream. He embodies love and kindness. This is a dream come true. This dream is life. This dream can cause real change in this groaning world.

    Even though my little boy will never be “normal” (whatever that is), God says to him,

    “COME AND DANCE AND PLAY! Let ALL the children come to me! And, Asher, show me that booty dance! I love that dance!”

    When my dreams have died, God’s dreams have just begun.   No matter what roadblocks are put in front of my boy, God says,

    “You are MINE, little boy. NO ONE can separate you from me. You just be you…this is all I ask. I made you perfectly imperfect. You have a purpose, and that purpose is to love me and love everyone else.”

    In all the productions and chaos and pride and societal norms and rules and regulations and fake and falsehoods and bullying and fighting, God whispers to me,

    “None of that is real. If you want to see “real”, look at your son. He is mine, and through him, I shine.”