Bittersweet Moments

My sister reminds me all the time that W’s my freebee. The one I don’t really have to worry about. The easy one.

W’s patient, kind, smart, and motivated. She’s naturally a good kid. She’s only 11, and she’s an old soul in many ways. Being a special needs sibling has shaped a lot of who she is. She’s responsible by necessity. She’s been forced to be organized because I’m often busy organizing J’s life. She’s the child who I can always count on. Unlike J, I know exactly how to relate with W. In many ways her brain works in the same way as mine.

But as we venture deeper into middle school, I’m finding that I’m losing a little of my W. When she comes home from school, she slips up to her bedroom to dive into a book and will read for hours (she tells me it’s a good place to go to escape life sometimes–J, school drama) or she’ll be checked out in front of the TV or computer to unwind from school. Sometimes she’ll ask for my phone to call a friend and chat. Most of the time I don’t even have to remind her about homework. Somehow, she gets that done on her own too. There are some days where I feel like I barely interact with her at all except for supper and bedtime.

I know this is what a lot of girls her age start doing. They slip into their own middle school worlds, away from parents, developing independent lives and identities. W has always been independent. I’m used to it. J can be really time consuming and has been especially tough at times in these middle school years.  If I’m not careful, and if I’m not deliberate, it’s really easy to miss interacting with my daughter. As a little girl, she’d give me gentle reminders and wait patiently for it. Now, because she’s in middle school, she’s not really asking for it anymore. Is this “normal”? Is this what “normal middle school years” look like? I dunno.

The one thing I do know is that sometimes I feel guilty. Really guilty.

I want her to be independent. I want her to grow up. But I don’t at the same time. Because I feel like many times I’m missing out with her. I have missed out with her. This is one of the things I hate about autism the most. W gets the short end of the stick.

A few weeks ago, we found out that W had won the middle school musical composition category for the PTA Reflections Contest. She had submitted her composition a few months ago, asking only for help with getting her recorded performance into the right format as per submission guidelines.

It’s true W’s my freebee and I take that for granted. I forget that she works hard—often struggles through things on her own. Often I rely on my village to help me help her. She’s not perfect. She needs reminders to practice piano and violin. I’m really grateful for W’s piano teacher and the way she motivates and encourages W to practice, because it’s a battle I don’t want to pick with her, especially when I feel like I’m missing a lot of the “good interactions.” W’s piano teacher encouraged W a few months back to try her hand at composition. W was really excited to write a piece of music on her own. I’m glad that I have adults who help me help her develop talents and confidence. I struggle with keeping that balance of nurturing both my kids’ growth.  I’m a “helicopter” parent out of sheer necessity with J. I’ve been a “free range” parent with W.

I reflected on a lot of these things as our family sat at the PTA Reflections Winners Luncheon on Saturday.  W is my sole connection to the “normal” parenting experience, and I feel like she’s the person she is because of nothing I’ve done. The emcee, in her presentation, thanked all the parents who supported their children in developing their talents in the arts, and I really felt like I couldn’t take much credit for that. In a strange way it amplified the distance I’ve been feeling between W and me lately, but made me that more proud of her at the same time. She’s succeeding despite of me and my parenting messes.

Autism has a strange effect on relationships. In some ways it’s made me feel more connected to people in ways I never felt possible. In other ways it’s made it really hard to connect with the people I love the most.

I love J and I love her. Part of my drive to help J is that I really want to help her in the long run. I don’t know what J will look like in 10, 20, or 30 years from now. But one day, when Steve and I are gone, I’m guessing that in some way she will be a form of us for J in some way–a  caregiver, guardian, or “look out.” And I know she’ll do it. J’s her brother. But I want J to be as self reliant as possible, because I want her to have as much of her own adult life as possible. She’s already given up a lot of her childhood for him.

But I don’t want to cheat her out of a relationship with her mother either.

The answer seems simple enough. Spend time with J and spend time with W. This weekend made me want to be better at that, and I’m going to try harder. But it’s really not that simple. Autism makes nothing simple.

I think deep down, she understands that. Sometimes, I wish she didn’t have to.

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