As you struggle through hardship, talking with someone who has gone through the same misery brings solace to your soul. You are finally being heard by someone who grasps the aspects of your anguish. These kindred spirits don’t just sympathize, they empathize with you, because they understand your trauma, all too well.
A few months ago a mother from Virginia reached out to me and wanted to know all she could about Bancroft. What it’s like there? Is the waiting list as long as they say? How did get my son in there? Because she heard it’s damn near impossible. Within the last few years, her son has become very aggressive and she is in fear for his and her safety. Virginia hasn’t given her much help or guidance and she feels lost. She has heard good things about Bancroft and she is even considering moving to New Jersey because her state doesn’t provide much support for families with severely autistic children. About a week ago, another parent, this one from New Jersey, reached out to me, asking how she could secure a bed in Bancroft She and her husband felt lost. their son has been in the hospital for the past three months, They originally didn’t want their son in a group home, but they are now willing to accept the necessary evil a group home will bring for the son’s safety and to their sanity. I explained to both parties, the meticulous process that Heena and I went through, gave the best advice I could and shared references who were a big help to us. I apologized that I couldn’t do more for them, but they were very thankful for my time and insisted that I was indeed a big help even if I didn’t feel like I was. I prayed for them to find a safe place for their children, and I wish I could have been the Harriet Tubman for Autism placement like they maybe hoped for.
Both conversations resonated with me uncomfortably, revealing the paradox I struggle with everyday. As chaotic and gloomy as those last few years with Dante were, I miss them. Why? Because those were the last days I had with my boy.
