Why.

Why.
Not a question. A statement (I think).

Not “Oh God, why me?” or all the other various ways of phrasing that particular sentiment.

Simply…”why.”

I have some pretty amazing friends that are there when I need them…even when I forget to call, or email back, or facebook back, or …um, yep, so turns out I generally suck as a friend, but the ones that tolerate me are pretty freaking awesome ; )

Anyway, as I was saying…among those friends are a few that when they get to talking (and when I say talking then obviously that means talking while drinking) find themselves saying it for me…”why did this have to happen to us? Hadn’t we suffered enough? After everything, how did we deserve this?” I love them for thinking it, I love them more for saying it. Let’s face it, we’ve thought it. How could we not? But I’ve chosen (and fought with myself) to not allow myself those thoughts for more than a brief moment.

Why do I choose not to let myself wander (run) down that self-pitying path? Because when you start to ask “why?”, the answer seems to come a little too easily. I have multiple friends, from very different stages of my life, who truly knew/know very different iterations of me, who all say the same thing… that it can’t have been coincidence. They believe that I was purposely given an autistic child…that there was a reason…that I was meant to go down this road…because I would change the road for those behind me.

Why me? Because what if this is what will make my life matter…what if this is my purpose…

First let me say that there are many stay at home mothers of autistic children who do a damn good job of researching and understanding highly complex material related to genetics, biochemistry, immunology, etc. without having spent years in college classrooms attempting to learn it. I’ve definitely learned a thing or two from these moms myself.

But why me? Here is this complex disease that spans genetic mutations, broken metabolic pathways, immunologic responses, altered microbiomes, etc…And guess what...this is what I've been trained to do. This is what all my favorite people in the offices/labs around me have been trained to do, too. If I was searching for a purpose, well here it is slapping me in the face.

Why? Why me? Why the hell not me?
Most of you know my general hate for the "Everything happens for a reason" line...but holy crap, what if everything happens for a reason...sure makes all of this a lot easier to swallow.

So I'm taking a different approach. All of the above is my "why."
Because I can.
Because he can.
Because we will.

One last thought. When we were first diagnosed, much of what I read was firmly rooted in the "why God why?" line of thought. One piece that has always stuck with me was that they recommended we “mourn the child we dreamed of”. Huh? I call bullshit. I only mourn for the time I wasted reading that crap. He's not less, he's different. He doesn't make me want to mourn anything except that I wish everyone else understood him as well as I am beginning to.
He feels strongly, he loves unconditionally, and he laughs infectiously.
I don't have time to mourn...I'm too busy being in awe of him...and planning the future for all of us.