The Job: Is This My Son Ryan?

Ryan guiding a new student

Last week Ryan moved up from intern to employee. What a change in him!!

When Ryan started these photo shop classes last year, he needed time to absorb the environment, people, schedule, let alone the content--typical of any young adult with autism.  I had hoped, that given time, Ryan would become comfortable and adapt.  What has occurred is beyond any expectation. 

When Ryan Johnson first came to RMG Imaging Artists, he spoke little and kept himself isolated from others, preferring to spend his breaks and conversational efforts completely immersed in the world of the novels he writes on his laptop. However, something happened over the past year; something akin to the astonishing metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly. Conversation has become a normal part of Ryan's day, smiles spread across his face regularly, and he exhibits great pride in the work he performs. He has applied himself to achieve, and in so doing, he has earned a sense of accomplishment, self-assurance, and position of respect among his peers. Ryan now talks to staff and his fellow artists with confidence—an extraordinary and heartwarming transformation! 

-Denise Gary, RMG Imaging Artists LLC

This is beyond any hope I've had.  My eyes get misty...

Photo Credit:  RMG Imaging Artists 

Your Boys Give Me Hope

Ryan, Nick, Cam.  A few years ago.  Windy beach day.

Last Friday, I was shocked.  I was leaving church when an elderly lady stopped me to ask a question.  "I hear your boys have a touch of Aspergers. How are you working with that? "

Several thoughts went through my head at once, yet I wanted to answer this woman concisely but thoroughly.  I must have hesitated too long.  She continued, "My grandson has been diagnosed with autism."

Once she said that, I answered, "My boys have autism.  299.0.  No aspergers.  No high functioning autism.  Full blown autism."

Her face reflected astonishment.  "I know your boys.  They are so polite, and they talk to me."

Now it was my turn to be stunned.  I am always surprised when someone outside the family says that my boys "talk" with him or her.  How "talk" is defined by each person varies, but the social interaction of any sort is remarkable.  That makes me smile.  My boys are conversing to some level--independently.

Wow!

We continued our discussion briefly.  I outlined the therapies that have taken place in the last ten years.  I described the sensitivities and issues my boys faced back then, like non-communication and intolerance to transitions.  I mentioned the prescribed meds and the switch to a clean diet.

At the end of our five minute conversation, this woman's face showed some sign of relief.  "Your boys give me hope for my grandson."

That just made my day.  I was almost in tears.  I remember being in her shoes, hearing the diagnosis of my boys.  I know the long road that lays ahead of this boy and his family.  I am glad that his grandma can tell his mom that she knows some boys who are progressing well, despite autism.  Or better yet, with autism.

Footprints with a Twist-Part II

There is no doubt that the imagery and faith conveyed in the poem, "Footprints in the Sand", are beautiful, personal revelations by the author. I am positive that many people have found consolation and hope via this poem. In fact, I have found inspiration by reading this poem in times of difficulty.

So why do I say my experience has been different from the warm and fuzzy ending? When I have spoken with people about this, I usually get a laugh and a comment, "That's twisted." So be warned.

When I have been carried, I have not necessarily gone quietly. I was probably carried in a fireman's hold because I was kicking and screaming. I could have been carried, well, dragged which would have left a stream of lines and footprints, indicating I was trying to run away. I was carried like a rebellious child throwing a tantrum because I didn't like what was ahead of me. I didn't want to face it. I didn't want to deal with it.

It? What is "it"?

I certainly didn't volunteer to be a mother of two autistic teens, let alone of four kids with disabilities at one point. I didn't want to mourn a child lost in a miscarriage. I could list a myriad of issues and problems. Alas, everyone has things to handle, and everyone's ability to do so varies. So who's to judge what is a hard life or who's problems are bigger?

I like happy endings. I root for the underdog. I like things simply stated. I acknowledge what is left unsaid. Some things just can't be expressed through words. Both love and pain make us grow, whether we want to or not. The only solution I see is trust in the Good Lord, whichever way he carries us. It's an act of faith that gives me hope.

Perfect Hope

Do not anticipate problems with apprehension, but with a perfect hope that God, to whom you belong, will free you from them accordingly. — Quiet Moments With Padre Pio

photo credit:DieselDemon

Want To Trade Your Life For A Better Model?

Ever wanted to just walk away? I admit that the last few months have been difficult, and these thoughts have crossed my mind a few times. Hence, I have not written much. Being a mom of five boys has spirited ups and downs. Throw in special needs issues, and life is uncontrolled chaos filled with extreme joys and failures. Every minute step of success is short-lived because it is immediately followed by a new goal. That new goal promises hours of laborious attempts of repetitive actions or lessons which might be learned, even mastered. Yet, there is no guarantee. I won't mention the failures... I play a guessing game as to what is the next step to help my sons. At stake is the success or failure of my boys' lives--being able to live independently and fruitfully in every aspect life has to offer: spiritually, financially, emotionally, academically, and other --ally things I can't name right now. No pressure. My youngest three boys were diagnosed with autism about nine years ago. My second oldest had a speech delay which was diagnosed three years earlier. Never did I dream that my youngest four boys would have a disability. It's been a tough road. Along that road many people have offered words of encouragement, such as, "You'll be fine". "You're strong." "You can do it." "God doesn't give you more than you can handle." Really? All of these expressions have their merit, but who in their right mind really believes that a mom who has no training in special needs can handle four special needs kids? Even if she can handle it for a while, is there a breaking point? When is "enough" enough? When is it time to take a break? When is it time to step back and say, "That is all I can do?" I wish I had the answers. Everyone has a different threshold. Everyone has "stuff" do muddle through. I have written about many of my autistic sons' successes. I have not written much about the younger, tougher years. I have not expressed many of the hardships to get to this point. Every so often a mom will ask, "How do you do it?" I try to smile, and I answer, "I don't." The mom might smile back or think I'm crazy. I will explain that I pray a lot. The boys' progress and my sanity are acts of faith. I am not always fine, and certainly not always strong. I have shed a tear or two. I will indulge in a "pity party". Then I pick myself up and go. I do have a loving husband, supportive parents, and wonderful friends. Nevertheless, they are not home with my boys 24/7. I can relay experiences, but only a parent of a special needs child could truly understand the cost, the unending sacrifice required. Every so often the car's gas tank needs to be filled; otherwise, the car won't go. Humans are no different, but it is not as easy as going to the gas station. Years of dealing with special needs issues have taken their toll on me. Other issues are also pressing. Life! I take life one moment at a time. Through prayer I cling to hope. Those are enough for now.

Ryan and a Girl Part II

"Grandma, guess which grandson asked a girl out?" I asked my mom over the phone. I could hear her think a moment. She replied, "Cody." I answered, "Nope."

Pause. "Zach?" She tried again. I answered, "Nope."

Silence. S i l e n c e.

"Ryan?????" Her tone slid up slowly as she really questioned her own answer. "Yep," I said. "Ryan!"

My mom couldn't believe her ears. "Really??" Obvious disbelief. I relayed the entire story to her. "Wow!" was all she could say. "Wow!"

Now to get to Kim's answer. On Tuesday morning, she told Ryan that she'd have to think about it. When Ryan told me that Tuesday evening, I simply said that was fine. Wednesday evening Ryan called her to ask again. She still had to think about it. I again responded, "That's o. k." Finally, on Friday morning Kim said that she could not go. Ryan called me to let me know. What else could I say, but "I'm still glad you tried."

It really frustrated me that Kim could not give Ryan an answer, be it yes or no. However, I did not know her circumstances, so I could not get angry. I only knew that my teenage son with autism could say the words AND get the courage to ask her--simultaneously.

Ryan was my son who did not talk until he was five. I remember doctors telling me, when he was diagnosed with autism, to accept it, deal with it, but there was/is no cure for autism. Without saying it, this was their message: No hope. I would love to have them see Ryan now and dare to tell me those same words. There is always hope!