Penny
Wednesday, August 6, 2008

I am a family member

When things are going well, hope is as easy to hold onto as the hand of a loved one, but when the circumstances of life begin spinning out of control, hope can be harder to keep hold of than a bouquet of helium balloons.

In the past, my faith had sustained me in times of crises, and hope was a perennial in the garden of my life.  That was until my severely autistic granddaughter, Millie, slipped a rope around the neck of her toddler brother and nearly dragged him to death.  That incident, in combination with countless other episodes of escalating violence and destruction, brought me to the place where hope melted in a despairing pool of tears.

My grandaughter’s autism was now bigger than any member of our family and, caught on a runaway rollercoaster of fear and anxiety, I had lost perspective and therefore hope.  It took my precious husband’s firm yet loving confrontation of my daughter and me with words we did not want to hear for hope and joy to begin resurfacing.

Clearly at risk to herself and others, alternative living solutions had to be addressed for Millie.  Through the strength of faith and friends, slow, painful acceptance of the pull of autism began to occur within the family. Ultimately, after two years of research, dogged determination and the intervention of our state’s U.S. Senator, my daughter was able to procure appropriate and acceptable living accommodations for Millie.

With her needs fully met through professional, loving and nurturing round-the-clock care, Millie is now safe and has been provided with the firm foundation, medical regimen and consistent schedule required for development of her social and educational skills.

Hope is more than wishful thinking.  Hope is confidence in the future.  And sometimes, courageous changes must occur for that confidence to return.