(Much to a Mother’s Woe) Children Grow Up

I wish my son could stay a child forever so I could protect him forever, but he can’t, and he won’t…

It's a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon and I am sitting in a parking space immediately outside the front doors of a Wawa - the New Jersey equivalent of a gas station convenience store. While I was filling my gas tank my 22 year old autistic and intellectually disabled son, JR, headed into the store to get snacks and a soda. 

That was exactly 7 minutes ago. I paid the gas attendant (it's illegal to pump your own gas in New Jersey for some reason) and pulled into a parking spot to wait for JR to emerge from the store 2 minutes ago. Right now I am sitting behind my car's steering wheel, trying NOT to give in to the urge to go in and check on him. 

It isn't easy. As the seconds tick by I keep thinking of what could be happening inside the convenience store. Suppose he couldn't find the soda he wanted, asked for help, and the store clerk couldn't understand him. What if he starts to have a meltdown? Will the cashier give him the right change? Will he remember to count his change? Suppose someone tries to steal JR's wallet?

I grip the steering wheel tightly, crane my neck to see through the glass doors inside the store, and take a deep breath. "No," I remind myself. "Not even on the pretext of getting yourself a cup of coffee."

I sit back in my seat, take another deep breath, and grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. 

I wonder how many times I'll put myself through this before JR going into a store becomes old hat to me. Before I stop worrying the worst will happen if I'm not there to protect him. 

Probably never. My dad once said that you don't worry less as your kids get older, the worries just get bigger. You go from worrying they're going to scrape their knee in on the playground to fearing they're going to crash the car driving home from the mall. 

I'm mom to an autistic person. I've gone from fear of scraped knees to fear of JR handing a convenience store cashier too much money and not counting his change.

The fact is, children grow up and independent of their moms (and dads). All children. Even autistic kids. From the moment they exit our wombs, our children take baby steps away from us. Autistic kids may do it a bit slower than their counterparts, but the result is the same: that baby boy you could scoop up with one arm and perch on your hip is suddenly a grown man who towers over you.

The difference is autistic adults still need protecting from the outside world.

Well, some do. If you’ve met one autistic person, congratulations, you’ve met one autistic person.

JR still needs protecting, but he also needs his independence. Like every other young adult, he needs to do things for himself; learn from his mistakes. I need to let him do that.

I also need to prepare him for the inevitable time when I won’t be here to protect him. My son needs to be able to protect himself to some degree.

So I force myself to stay put behind the steering wheel.

Less than a minute later - 8 minutes after I pulled up to the gas pump - my son ambles out of Wawa, a red, reusable shopping bag swinging from his left hand, a cardboard cup holder with a soda and an iced coffee in the other.

"Hey Mom! I got you a coffee."

The breath I didn't know I was holding lets go and my whole body relaxes. My son slides into the passenger seat of the car and fastens his seatbelt, completely unaware - I hope - that I was even worried.

Of course JR was okay. More than. I shouldn’t have worried.

I will – I always will – anyway.