The World Didn't Stop

"How do you feel about this, Mrs. Leavitt?"

It was a fair question, since the tears streaming down my face could have meant anything. She handed me a tissue, and smiled at my daughter - with the practiced skill of somebody who has lived this scenario countless times. My girl smiled back, oblivious to my tears and the fact that our lives had just changed forever. She went back to playing with the Fisher Price Sesame Street Clubhouse. That had been my favorite toy as a child too. I smiled at my girl and touched her soft blond hair.

"Mrs. Leavitt?"

"I think...I think I'm relieved." I knew that must have sounded strange, but it was an honest answer. At least there was an explanation for some of my daughter's quirky behavior.

"I hear that a lot," she said.

The doctor gave me all sorts of information, where I could go to get further assessments, a whole list of books I could read, websites, county resources, a virtual care package of what to do and who to talk to when your daughter is autistic. When we were still in the doctor's office, I felt safe, like I could handle this.

It felt like when I was in the hospital when my daughter was first born. The nurses came in, changed diapers, helped feed the baby. They were so calm, everything seemed so easy, until I got home with this baby and realized my husband and I had to do all of this ourselves.

It wasn't until I stood in the street with my daughter - the same beautiful tree lined street we'd walked up not an hour ago - that I realized I wasn't ready for this. I had no idea how to handle it. My daughter let go of my hand and picked up some more leaves, delighting in the different colors and textures. I saw dead leaves. Ugly, rotting, dead leaves. How had the picture perfect street change into such a cold and unfeeling scene so quickly?

I thought to call my husband, but I didn't. I don't know why. I just picked up my girl and carried her to the car. She smiled at me and pointed to more leaves and trees, still blissfully ignorant. I was happy for her. When we reached the main road, cars zoomed by, just like before, people went about their day, and the world hadn't stopped for my daughter nor I. When events like this happen, it feels like the world should stop, but it never does. The earth keeps spinning and we keep going, it's the only choice.

My mom called when we were on our way home to say she was watching my nieces kids and why don't we stop by. I knew that she knew about the doctor appointment and I knew she'd want to know what the doctor said. If the earth would have opened up and swallowed the car whole, I would have been more than ok with it. You see, I love my mom, but she's of an age where any kind of 'disability' is looked upon with shame, not compassion. She adored my girl, but in an instant, it could all go south. In the end, it didn't matter what my mom thought, I loved my daughter, now more than ever, and that would never change, but I didn't want to have to deal with having to defend my daughter against her own family - I was sure I'd have to fight for her plenty, autism or not, that's what parents do, but it's different when the enemy is related to you.