I didn’t respond to you.

You were instantly deleted and banned because hate and discrimination have no place here.

I will however use this as a teachable moment.

A moment to educate others and learn from negative comments that come from hurtful people like you.

Ironically, I just shared a post the other day talking about the “R” word.

And here we are again just a few short days later.

Not only is this word NOT OK when speaking about my son, it’s not ok to use it to describe anything or ANYONE.

Ever.

And let’s talk about the second part of that comment.

My son absolutely, positively, 100 % deserves to be in public.

And he most definitely does NOT belong in an institution.

Individuals with disabilities are human beings.

Just like you and I.

They want to be loved.

Treated with kindness.

And accepted for who they truly are.

Regardless of a diagnosis, we should treat ALL people with dignity and respect.

Period.

I’m not sure why there is still so much hate in this world.

But we HAVE to do better.

Change starts with us.

It takes zero dollars to be a decent human being.

But it does take a conscious effort on how we treat people.

To continue spreading negativity and hurtful words.

Or to be compassionate and kind.

The choice is yours.

Please, choose wisely.

I heard him.

I looked to my left and he caught my eye with his loud voice and fidgety hands.

He was mid to late twenties with a stalky build and buzzed cut hair.

I was standing in lane four with my cart full of groceries and he was in lane one.

He was upset because lane one wasn’t open and he seemed confused as to why.

The gentleman that was with him, I’m guessing his father, explained that one was not available but that he could go in a lane that had a cashier.

The two of them walked over and stood behind me in line.

I turned around to wave and say hello.

I could quickly see that he was still upset as he was pacing back and forth making repetitive sounds and hand gestures.

He reminded me a lot of my son.

His body movements, loud noises and the way he wondered off away from his caregiver.

He gave me a glimpse into what our future may look like when our son is that age.

I smiled at the men and asked if they’d like to go ahead of me in line.

They looked at each other and at first, the father kindly declined.

But after offering a second time, they gratefully accepted.

He seemed happy when he stepped in line in front of me and I was glad to see it relieved some of the stress from waiting.

I noticed other patrons in the store staring and pointing, but I hope my friendly connection is what they remember.

I hope they remember a woman who treated them with respect and wanted to help when a young man was having a hard time.

I hope they remember the mom who made him feel accepted and not judged.

The mom who treated him with kindness.

Because that’s what she would want others to do for her son.

To be compassionate and kind.

Today.

Tomorrow.

And always.

The good ones.

For the past three years my son has had the same one on one aide, also known as a paraprofessional.

She has been the heart and soul that has supported and cared for my son while he was at school.

What started as a “new aide” in second grade ending up being one of the most beautiful relationships I have never seen between him and someone who is not family.

To be honest, now three years later, she feels like part of our family.

And that’s why this has been so incredibly difficult.

You see, she has been taking classes and we knew this day would come once she passed her test.

I think my husband and I were secretly hoping we’d have at least another year with her before we had to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, that’s not how things played out.

We are so excited for her and proud of her for pursuing her dreams.

And we know that she’s going to continue to do great things.

I hope the families who work with her in the future realize how special she is.

Because she truly is one of a kind.

As we move onto this next chapter and start looking for a new paraprofessional, we have to give ourselves time to grieve.

Our son is having a hard time understanding and is not able to express himself with words.

There’s a lot of extra hugs and many nights working through behaviors.

Thankfully, we can still talk to her on the phone and the sound of her voice brings him so much joy.

The transition period is hard.

The emotional tug on our hearts is heavy.

But I know we will get through this.

It’s just so hard saying goodbye.

Especially to the good ones.

Please be considerate.

With the holiday weekend here, the celebrations have begun and the fireworks are lighting up our skies.

While I love a good firework show myself, many individuals do not enjoy it and some are even terrified of them.

Our son has never watched fireworks outside and I honestly don’t know that he ever will.

We ask and we try but it’s a big no for him.

So we watch them on TV snuggled up in our favorite pajamas.

One thing we can’t control is what others are doing outside around us.

And this is true for so many families this weekend.

So I’m asking a small favor.

If you’re having a party and you know that one of your neighbors is autistic or has sensory sensitivities, please be mindful of when and where you set off fireworks.

If you’re able to light them off at a different friend’s house or in an area that’s farther away, I’m sure your neighbor would be incredibly grateful.

You see, this isn’t just about “waking kids up” or “close the windows and they’ll be fine.”

This is so much more than that.

Sensory sensitivity to loud noises can be extremely overwhelming and scary.

It actually hurts their ears.

They’re scared.

They’re holding their ears and hiding somewhere in the house.

They cry, they get anxious and they pace the halls until it’s over.

There might even be someone attending your party that is autistic or someone who doesn’t like loud sounds.

You can offer different things to help them.

Noise cancelling headphones.

Earbuds.

A quit room in your house.

Or a seat in a nearby car so they can enjoy the beauty of the fireworks without all of the sound.

Ask how you can help and offer support.

Kindness goes a long way my friends.

We would never ask people to not celebrate America’s birthday the way they want to.

But we are asking for you to please be considerate of those who celebrate differently.

Today was our twin boys birthday party.

We have had parties for them every year since they were babies.

They are now 10 years old.

Over the years, we have learned to call ahead, ask questions and get specific details on the establishment to make sure we know how to plan accordingly.

From our very first phone call, we have been treated with kindness and acceptance.

When we arrived today, they had all of their loud machines and games turned off, TVs turned down and music playing at a minimal volume.

Not only did they create a sensory friendly space so that our son was more comfortable there, they went above and beyond to help assist us with the restroom.

Did they have an adult sized changing table?

No.

But what they DID have was caring and compassionate staff that wanted to help.

They provided a private room that would allow us to safely change our son with dignity.

It’s small acts of kindness like this that make a huge difference for families like ours.

This is the FIRST time that someone took that extra step to make sure our son felt included and safe in their building.

AND they went the extra mile to make restroom accommodations for our family.

As I pulled the manager over to the side to thank her, I couldn’t hold back the tears.

Thank you just didn’t seem like enough for everything they did for us.

For our son.

I will never forget this small birthday party and the powerful impact it had on our son.

A huge thank you to Flying Squirrel Cranberry Township and Danielle for making this day so special.

We will never forget your compassion and kind heart.

And we will definitely be returning for some more fun!

Do you remember?

When the world shut down and everyone was stuck at home?

You couldn’t go to a movie, meet your sister for coffee or enjoy a concert with your friends.

You couldn’t go to a football game or have a family fun day at the pool.

You couldn’t take your kids to the zoo, enjoy a day at the amusement park or go away on vacation.

Everything. Was. Closed.

It felt isolating didn’t it?

Now I want you to imagine for a moment that ALL of those places are OPEN.

But you still CAN’T go.

Imagine if there were barriers that prevented you from leaving your house.

What would you do if you couldn’t go out in public with your family because there were no accessible restrooms?

Nowhere for your son to use the restroom in a safe, private and dignified space.

Many places are trying to be more inclusive and we truly appreciate the efforts that are being made.

However, without an accessible restroom with an adult sized changing table, many families aren’t able to travel, enjoy time out in their community or even take a quick trip to the local mall.

We are forgetting our most vulnerable population.

Our elderly loved ones, our disabled veterans, your friend who uses a wheelchair, your neighbor’s daughter with spina bifida, your cousin with cerebral palsy, your father who suffered a stroke, your son with epilepsy or your nephew with complex medical needs.

Millions of families across our country are still confined at home or extremely limited where they can go in public.

Our family being one of them.

Advocating for an accessible restroom with a universally designed changing table is not asking for special treatment.

Using the restroom is a basic human right and it’s denied to individuals every singe day.

As the world starts going back to some sort of normalcy, please remember this.

There are many people who are still at home wishing they could enjoy a day out with their families.

Maybe one day, changing on dirty restroom floors is a thing of the past and inclusive restrooms are easily accessible.

And our loved ones will be able to live their lives to the fullest, exploring the world around them.

“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy.”

As I heard Jane, also known as Nightbirde, say those words on America’s Got Talent, I was overcome with emotion.

The tears started flowing as I listened to her powerful words.

This is a young woman, with an incredible singing voice, who is battling cancer with a two percent survival rate.

2 %.

Her reaction and response to that?

“It’s not zero percent!”

Friends, if I’m being completely transparent and honest, I don’t know that I’d have the same optimistic outlook and strength within me to say that AND have a smile on my face.

But SHE DID.

And before she started her audition, she said one more phrase that really pulled on my heart strings.

“I’m so much more than the bad things that happen to me.”

Goosebumps ran up and down my arms and legs.

Every heartfelt word she said.

Every powerful lyric in her original song titled “It’s OK”

Every single time she spoke, she did it with such beauty and grace.

This magnificent woman is the epitome of strength and hope.

We have all had our fair share of struggles over this past year and at times, it was almost too much to handle.

But she put things into perspective for me that I desperately needed right now.

And maybe you do too?

I think we can all learn from this beautiful soul.

Let’s stop waiting for life not to be hard any more.

Let’s stop allowing our struggles define who we are and start tackling them head on with strength and perseverance.

Let’s choose to smile a little more and cry a little less.

Let’s do more of what makes us happy and remember to be grateful for all of the blessings that surround us.

And as Nightbirde so graciously reminds us in her beautiful song,

“We’re all a little lost sometimes.”

And it’s going to be OK.

So let’s start living life every day like it could be our last.

Just like she does.

Team work.

That’s how we made it through the past 15 months of virtual school during a global pandemic.

This wouldn’t have been possible without all of the amazing and selfless individuals who worked tirelessly day in and day out.

The exceptional teachers that found creative ways for our children to learn, while they too were navigating new and unfamiliar territory.

The parents who became assistant teachers over night and stayed awake wondering how they’d make it through another day.

The paraprofessionals and teachers aides that would offer support and give ideas to make things a little bit easier for us.

The therapists who took phone calls after hours because the overwhelming stress and anxiety from the day was too much to handle.

The friend on the other end of line who sat quietly and listened as you cried out your frustrations and fears.

The in-laws who helped with homework over Zoom calls or dropped off dinner so you didn’t have to cook.

The caregivers who were burnt out from every day demands but still found strength within to keep going for their family.

The special education staff and they’re incredible determination to make sure our children had what they needed to be successful at home.

We ALL made sacrifices during this time.

We had to adapt and learn new ways to navigate through difficult situations.

We had to rise above our own personal circumstances and make sure our children felt supported.

That they felt seen.

Heard.

And loved.

Our children are extremely resilient, but there’s no doubt in my mind this has left an impact on each and every one of them.

My hope is that they saw the power and strength behind the army of people who were helping them through this every step of the way.

That we showed up with love in our hearts and helped them through this emotional roller coaster.

That we showed grace and empathy for one another, especially on the difficult days.

That we often spoke about mental health and personal feelings regarding school, friends and social distancing.

And most importantly, we never gave up.

We kept pushing through the tears, the anxiety and the constant changes.

We chose to rise above our fears and continue the path to the finish line.

It wasn’t easy.

It took a lot of patience and hard work.

But we did it.

Together.

“If you could take away your son’s autism, would you?”

As soon as she finished the sentence, I took a deep breathe in and paused for a moment.

I’ve been asked this question many times before and my answer will always be the same.

No.

If I took away my son’s autism, I’d be taking away who my son truly is.

Autism is vibrantly flowing through his veins like a beautiful rainbow.

It’s intricately wired into his brain and creates a world that’s exceptional and unique.

It’s pumping through his gentle heart that’s filled with innocence and joy.

It glistens in his eyes and shines brightly through his smile and laughter.

It makes him dance to the beat of his own drum and he doesn’t care who’s watching.

So why would I want to take that away from him?

I’m not dismissing the fact that autism can be hard.

But so many other things in life are difficult too.

We take the good days with the bad and find joy in the little moments that most people wouldn’t even notice.

We don’t take things for granted and we’re always celebrating little wins.

We’ve learned to adapt and shift gears as needed.

Our life is very different.

It’s loud.

It’s messy.

It’s extraordinary.

And it’s a roller coaster of emotions.

But I wouldn’t change any of it.

Not even for one day.

Autism is not a tragedy.

It’s not something to be afraid of.

It’s not something we should be ashamed of or embarrassed to talk about.

Autism is not something I’d ever wish to be taken away from my son.

But rather embrace it, with an abundance of love, compassion and hope.

It was 1:45 in the morning.

You came waddling down the stairs, sleepy eyed and carrying your favorite blanket.

You walked over to me sitting on the couch, and you crawled onto my lap.

With your back against my chest, you rested your head on my shoulder.

No words.

No sounds.

Just silence.

I sat there taking in this very rare and beautiful moment wishing time would stand still.

I held you close and ran my fingers through your soft hair.

You let me kiss your cheek and hold your hand.

As we sat there together, hand in hand, I found myself tearing up.

I never wanted it to end.

While it didn’t last long, I was grateful for the time we had.

It’s in those tired late night hours that we have some of our most special moments.

The peaceful moments.

The calm moments.

The moments that make you forget about the struggles and heartache from the day.

The moments of love and connection without a single word being spoken.

The moments you allow me to hug you and you don’t pull away.

The moments I get to whisper in your ear and remind you how amazing you are.

So even when it’s 2 o’clock in the morning and we should both be sleeping…

I’ll be here.

With arms wide open and a shoulder to lean on.

To share these special moments with just the two of us.

Holding you.

Loving you.

And enjoying the beautiful silence together.