As a parent of a child with autism, I was constantly bombarded with advice about how to fix the problem, or how to “cure” Billy. It is particularly intense in the younger years – “You only have a few short years when the brain is malleable, and then it is all over!!! You must do everything now, today!” And the various treatments, diets, medications, etc. feel endless. The time and expense of trying to do it all makes it virtually impossible. But we tried everything we could. As the child grows, the chosen interventions are either working or they are not. Parents who “cure” their kids are heralded as angels – selfless mothers and fathers who would do anything for their child. Those of us with different types of kids, whose kids are not improving (and are sometimes getting worse), are left feeling guilty, like we didn’t do enough. The pressure we parents are under in always trying to do what is right for the child and not miss anything, while at the same time trying to stay sane and maintain a balanced, happy home is sometimes hard to bear.
India:
This poem is a reworking of "No Miracles", and has the same center section. "No Miracles" was too dark to be a Holiday poem.
A Different Kind of Miracle
Listen. We sing Christmas carols,
Bill and I. No rhyme or reason.
I always find joy in this:
He thinks they’re always in season.
* * *
When Bill was small, we read each book
-true stories like shimmering lures-
with hope and determination,
we searched for treatments, for cures.
Some books implied that if only
we worked hard with Bill, if we tried,
he had a miracle waiting
locked up and hidden inside.
But miracles run scarce, it seems;
our day to day struggles prevailed.
And though we made every effort
we sometimes felt we failed.
Though Bill has come such a long way;
though we love him; though we are strong;
That Bill remains autistic,
implies that somewhere we went wrong.
We banish this feeling with love.
I know that, for Brian and me
Bill is the love of our lives,
he is how he was meant to be.
* * *
Listen. I know that there may be
no miracles, do what we will.
No matter. We’ll live without them,
believing instead in Bill.
