Fourteen years ago, I was waiting to become a mother. Our son Charlie was born on May 15, 1997; I spent Mother’s Day 1997 on the living room futon couch, as I’d been diagnosed with preeclampsia and was on bedrest until Charlie was born. I like to be busy and doing things so bedrest was not easy for me.

Those two weeks of bedrest were an early lesson about how a big part of being a mother is not doing what you’re inclined to, for the sake of your children. Charlie was diagnosed with autism just around his second birthday in 1999 and there are few things I, or my husband Jim Fisher have since done that have not been with the intent of helping Charlie and giving him the best chance he might have in life.

It is a cliché, but we know that changing ourselves to suit what’s best for Charlie has made our lives inestimably better; has made us better, more patient, more forgiving, more open-minded and big-hearted, more loving.

Charlie’s our lovely boy. He’s a boy with some really significant behavioral and other challenges, including what you might call “textbook autism as a nightmare without end” sorts of behaviors including self-injurious ones like head-banging. At almost 14, Charlie is 5′ 9″ and very athletic; he doesn’t have a good sense at all of his strength and physical power and can get himself into, well, trouble. He’s had a number of close calls and at least one school district has encouraged us to think of placing him in a “temporary residential placement.” Charlie currently goes to school at a county autism center with about 200 children like him aged 3 – 21; he has been very happy here and thriving, thanks to a well-trained and kindly staff who seeks to really understand him and other children in their different ways of being.

Sometimes I’m simply amazed that we’ve gotten this far with Charlie. A generation ago, he would most likely no longer be living with us; he would very likely have been institutionalized, perhaps even at the age of 7 or 8. 

While we’ve tried numerous treatments — including some biomedical ones using alternative medicine — education by some truly dedicated teachers and therapists has been key for Charlie. Many of the programs he has been in have relied on Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA), which is based on principles of behavior therapy This Mother’s Day video from the organization Rethink Autism provides some information about ABA as a teaching methodology; Charlie started in an ABA program when he was just over two years old in 1999. Also very helpful have been understanding Charlie’s unusual responses to sensory stimuli, his need for physical activity and exercise (especially in the great outdoors — he is a super swimmer and bike rider) and some medications, in close consultation with a neurologist.

My friend and “commadre” in Autismland, Estée Klar, sums up the pang and the love mothers of kids with disabilities may feel on holidays. She writes:

As an only child and single mother to an autistic son, I have to be honest that I sometimes find myself grumbling about holidays. I know it sounds very cynical of me, but hear me out. Another hallmark holiday can make me feel left out. Our kids are supposed to make us cards, buy us flowers, gifts and tell us how wonderful we are. Usually, there is a husband to make the kids abide if the kids are too busy playing Xbox. I remember fondly making those cards and telling my mom how much (and still do) love and appreciate her. In my case, my dad didn’t always have to remind me. Adam can’t make me a card; at least not without the help of another person. So, another holiday comes and that’s the pang….

As Mother’s Day approaches, I think of the daily moments I share with Adam; how much we’ve been through together and how much I wanted him. I waited until my late thirties to have him. Other’s have forced him to make cards and say “Happy Mother’s Day mummy … I wuv you,” and he repeats it obediently, hands me the card made with construction paper and crayons. Sure, I love the card and keep them in a special box, but I know he doesn’t care about it so much.

Today, he cares about the items he can make on his own volition. He cares about when I am there for him and can comfort him or love him just because. In return, I receive his voluntary hugs and kisses, his laughter, his smile, his pulling me towards him and saying my name. At night as I tuck him into his favorite blanket, he’ll say in his little voice, “don’t go.”…

For us moms whose children cannot and may not make cards and say I love you this year, don’t despair. I hear you and I’m with you. Be proud of your mothering efforts and happy that we are moms of our wonderful children. I don’t know about you, but I never get the feeling that Adam doesn’t love me. Just because he can’t always express it in words, or as slick as a Hallmark card, I feel ocean waves of love and appreciation every single day.

Wishing all mothers of every child a lovely Mother’s Day with those they love best. This very short video shows Charlie and me riding in our car, having a happy moment together — best present ever a mother could want, if you ask me.