I’m a crier. Most people who know me well know that, so it came as a surprise even to me that I didn’t really cry as I processed the news of my daughter’s diagnosis of ASD. When the doctor said the words, a few tears snuck out, landing on the keyboard on which I was furiously typing notes. That evening, a few more tears came when I shared the news with my husband. I think it was two nights later that I wept ever so slightly, saying between breaths, I feel like I haven’t had the chance to cry about it. But then, just as quickly as the tears came, they went.
I cried today. Blubbered may actually be a more accurate description. Real, raw, monstrous tears poured from my eyes. Mascara streaked down my cheeks. I was driving home, on my way to see my sweet girl, and the week just got the best of me. I pulled into the local elementary school parking lot, knowing I needed some time to let it out before going home. And as I stared at the outer walls of the school that will likely be where she receives her first IEP, I sobbed. I hyperventilated. I thought to myself, what would I say if someone we to happen upon this car right now? Hi, I’m 35-weeks pregnant and I just found out my toddler has Autism. And I have no idea what I’m doing. Here. Now. With this news. With anything, it seems. I found comfort in the hiccups radiating from deep inside my belly, a sensation of pregnancy that usually drives me crazy. I rubbed the little joint, maybe an elbow, that seemed to protrude from beneath my right ribcage, and I prayed. I prayed for the sweet life inside me, and for the sweet life that was a mile down the road, the one who was likely bouncing around joyfully without a care in the world. And then, my mind went to an image I had stumbled upon a few days, and the words came out, aloud, as I sat alone in my car. Holland is better than Italy anyway. Holland is better than Italy. I said it over and over, Holland is better than Italy, as if I were trying to talk myself into it. I realized in that moment that I was grieving the person I had dreamt of all my life, I was grieving the possibility of my little person being…. What? Normal? But what is normal? And even if a real normal existed, would I truly want that for her anyway? The tears began to dry up as I thought about what it is that I want for her, and the answer came effortlessly: I want her to be happy. And is that something that is still possible? Absolutely. Will there still be hard times? Of course. But the fact is, she is happy. She will be happy. We will all be happy. Because we’re all going to Holland together, and Holland has a hell of a lot more to offer than what we require to be deeply happy:
Welcome to Holland
By Emily Perl Kingsley
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip- to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas of Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”
But there’s one change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around… and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills… and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and for the rest of your life, you will say “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”
But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things… about Holland.
