Autism in the Eyes of a Father

I don't know if this fits what should go into blogs on this site, and if it doesn't, please send me a message telling me so. It pretty much encapsulates my feelings about the struggle and triumphs my son and I have gone through when it comes to Autism. He is almost there, almost recovered, and I couldn't be more proud of him. In the six short years that he's been in my life, he has taught me more about love, compassion, and acceptance than I could ever dream about teaching him. And he did it all with a so-called "disability." No amount of words could ever fully describe the bravery, strength, and fortitude my little boy has shown, but here it is, all my emotions wrapped up in a few short paragraphs:

I’m watching him sit there, just sit there. Why won’t he look up? Why won’t he say anything? Why won’t he even acknowledge my existence? It’s the window that separates us, my world from his world. Why won’t he come to me? Why won’t he climb through the window to the other side? For now, all I can do is watch him through the window and appreciate his beauty from afar.

My angel, my sweet little angel, please spread those wings of yours and fly through to my side. Daddy’s wanting; daddy’s waiting for anything, a look, a smile, or even an embrace. I’ll take anything, as long as it’s from you.

My tears turn to anger, and I start banging on the window. Open up! Give me my little boy. He’s not yours, so don’t take him as yours. You’re robbing him of his childhood; you’re robbing me of my parenthood. I hate everything about you. Wait! What’s this? A look. He looked at me! He looked at me! It was only for a second, but it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I have truly looked into the eyes of an angel. I can barely see; the tears are blinding, but I’m happy because he finally looked at me. That will do, for now.

I’m back at the window, staring at my little boy just sitting there, rocking back and forth. I want him to look again. I want to see those eyes of his. I’ll do anything for that look, if only for a second.

Again, I see that look as he slowly, agonizingly slowly, turns his head and looks at me once again. Our eyes lock; he sees me staring at him through the window. I start talking, but he can’t seem to hear me. I start yelling, but he can’t seem to hear me. I start crying, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he turns his head back and starts rocking once again. An anger starts boiling inside me. I take out my fists and smash them into the window, but nothing happens. My hands hurt, and the window is still intact.

A smile? Could that be a smile? I know in my heart it was. It was there for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone. Damn the window! I want it gone! I want my little boy, and I can’t stand this any longer. The anger, the sadness, the frustration consumes my thoughts and controls my emotions. I can’t think of anything other than getting through . . . .wait. What’s happening? He’s moving! He’s standing! He turns my way and looks at me! Come on my little boy; daddy wants to look at you. Please just take a few steps and come here. Daddy’s waiting.

No! No! No! Don’t turn back around; don’t sit back down; please just look back at me. Daddy’s right here. Nothing. I scream and scream and scream as I crumple to the ground in exhaustion.

I wake up, hoping it was all just a horrible dream, but when I look back through the window and see him sitting there, alone, I realize it isn’t. I just stand there, looking at him as I try to figure out what to do next. All I can do is love him, unconditionally, and hope that he sometimes sees this. I concentrate on the love and on him and everything good about him. I just stand there and stare, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of what I saw yesterday, but that look doesn’t come as I fall asleep with a face full of tears but with a heart full of hope.

He’s moving again! He’s moving again! He’s walking towards me as I watch him through the window. I smile; he smiles, as our eyes lock. He’s coming closer and closer to the window, and he doesn’t stop this time. Oh please, my little angel, come all the way this time. Daddy will do anything, just come all the way. Daddy’s here for you.

He’s at the window looking right through to me. Tears stream down my face at how far he’s come. The few seconds he’s there seems like an eternity. One little hand reaches up and touches the window, leaving a little set of fingerprints as he turns around and walks away.

Why! Why! Why does this keep happening? I just can’t figure it out. Why can’t I figure it out? Why can’t I help my little boy? I just keeps breaking my heart again and again and again to see him, to see us, go through this. But I still have that set of fingerprints to remind me of what he can do. I reach out and touch my side of the window and watch my fingers touch where his were.

I wipe the tears away and see him sitting there once again, rocking back and forth. More tears come as he doesn’t respond to anything I say or do. The tears overcome me as I crumple to the ground once again.

I don’t sleep this time. I cry. I cry and cry and cry. I want my angel, my little boy back. I want to show him the unconditional love he has taught me. But I can’t. The window is blocking my way, and I just can’t figure out how to open it. The tears keep coming; they can’t be stopped. They finally give way to fatigue as I drift off.

I wake up on my back, staring at the ceiling. Something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I look at the window to see my little boy staring down at me. I rub my eyes to see if they were playing tricks on me, and they aren’t. My little boy, my angel, is still staring down at me with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I slowly get up. I don’t want to jump up and startle him. I want him to stay there. I keep slowly raising myself until I’m up at the window, staring him in the face, returning his smile. We just stand there, together, with nothing between us but the window. I want this moment to last forever. I don’t want it to end.

He reaches up to the window again, but instead of touching it, he’s trying to open it. He starts pulling harder and harder and harder. I catch myself in the moment just standing there and watching him struggle. I catch myself, and I reach up to help him.

The window starts to move! It only moves a few inches, but it moves! I put my face to the small opening and shout, “Keep trying! Keep pulling! Daddy will help!” He stops pulling and smiles again. He leans toward the opening and says the most beautiful words I have ever heard, “I love you Daddy,” as he reaches through the window and touches my hand. He turns around to sit back down on the floor, but the opening in the window remains. The opening in the window remains.

That’s where we’re at, but the opening in the window is still there, getting bigger inch by inch. The window that was once completely closed is now partially open. The window that was once completely in the way is now only partly in the way. The window is Autism, and it’s not what it once was. I will get my angel, my little boy back. I will take him by the hand and help him through the window, so we can share this world, together.


HOPE is exactly what needs to be in these blogs. Amazing how you captured the exact feelings of so many of us. Thank you for sharing your feelings with us.

Beautiful. Love radiates

Beautiful. Love radiates around, over, under, and through any obstacle in its path.