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The ocean. The Smurfs. The Blue Light Specials at our local Kmart. Ever since I was a child, I have loved the color blue and all that it represented. Now as an adult, I love blue for an entirely different reason.
Blue represents autism. And on April 2, 2012, I will proudly join the millions of people, families, and businesses around the world that will "Light It Up Blue" to shine a light on autism.
Prior to becoming a parent, I rarely thought about autism; my only experience with it came from a speech a friend once gave in high school. From that, I gleaned two things: 1) Autism was a horrible thing; and 2) It was something I would never have to worry about.
I couldn't have been more wrong—on both counts.
I had no idea that 17 years later, my firstborn child, Katie, would be diagnosed with a form of autism called Asperger's syndrome. They defined it as "a disorder characterized by impairment in speech and communication, and repetitive thoughts and behaviors."
I, however, defined it more simply—loss.
It was the loss of the "perfect" dreams and plans I had for this beautiful little girl and the loss of "normalcy" as I knew it. Without warning, I was transplanted in a world that I never wanted to be a part of, and shut out of the only world I had ever known. I found myself not relating to my closest friends, who would share stories of their children's accomplishments—the birthday parties they were invited to or the feats their little stars achieved in sports—while my daughter struggled with everything, including finding a single friend.
I never felt more alone—or scared.
Katie looked like other kids, but that was part of the problem. Kids didn't expect her to stand out. So when she did by either making a quirky mannerism or obsessing on a specific thing or topic, they turned their backs on her. Or worse, ridiculed her. And when I watched her struggle in youth sports—where I stood out for excellence—I, too, turned away.
It was too painful to bear.
It wasn't until I decided to co-write a book with my sister about raising children with disabilities that things started to change. As part of our research, we interviewed people who were living with disabilities. We met parents who were so refreshingly honest about their children's struggles and so eager to change and find new ways to help them. We met people who gave up everything they own to get their children the services and support they needed. I met adults with disabilities who courageously and openly shared their challenges and successes. We met children with autism who were so loving, and pure, and honest.
At some point, I became enlightened. I saw my daughter, myself, and my purpose in life clearly. And, I saw autism in a new light.
I realized that autism affects not just 1 in 110 children; but all who come in contact with a child with autism—parents, grandparents, siblings, neighbors, aunts, uncles, cousins, classmates, teachers.
I realized in the strange new world of differences I was living in, blessings such as compassion, understanding, humility, unconditional love, resilience, and authenticity ran wild.
And, I realized that I needed to share with others how autism has positively affected my life.
In the month of April, the month of autism awareness, and in the coming years, when more and more children are diagnosed, you'll hear a lot more about autism. I hope you will listen and understand this: autism isn't contagious. However, the compassion and understanding that comes with loving a child who has it, is.
Join me and millions of others around the world and Light It Up Blue. For more information, visit lightitupblue.org.
