Thankful for it all

I’ve been finding myself wanting to write every day—before my thoughts seep through the sieve of my brain and I’m left with only the pulp, the fractured pieces that settle at the bottom of my ever-racing, ever-aging mind. I’ve missed writing and sharing the countless moments I’m experiencing with my boys, but lately I’ve felt disconnected. Maybe it’s menopause, maybe it’s the lack of hours in the day, maybe it’s the growing anxiety of watching Nico age while seeming to stay in one place. All I know is that I’ve been unsettled, and I hate the idea that unsettled is what finally brings pen to paper. Because truly—I have so much to be thankful for. I want to stay the optimist/realist…never the pessimist. I don’t want my words to crystallize as anxious confessions, even though I am anxious. And torn.

I have two beautiful, brilliant, resilient boys who fill my life with joy, and part of the magic is how wildly different they are—yet both manage to keep me in a constant state of worry.

Nico is undeniably my profoundly autistic son. I’m coming to terms with that more and more each day. He lives almost entirely in his own world, and it’s hard to pull him into ours for more than a moment. He echoes what we say instead of responding. He misses social cues I once believed he would’ve picked up by now. He still eats only one thing—Goldfish crackers—and drinks only one thing—tropical fruit-veggie juice. He needs help showering, dressing, brushing his teeth, even as he looks more and more like a young man. And for all my praying and pleading with every higher power available, my sweet boy can’t yet take the thousands of words I know are swirling in his mind and shape them into a conversation with me. That’s what breaks me most—it’s the hope I’ve held onto the tightest.

Then I look over at the kitchen counter, at my 6-year-old going toe-to-toe with his father in a battle of words, and I’m flooded with relief, hope, gratitude, and guilt-soaked happiness all at once.

I am so thankful for my Maximo. He came into my life right when I needed him most, long before I understood how much I needed him. And although he’s been wonderful for Nico, for my husband, and for me, he has challenged me in ways completely different from his brother. Max brings me gut-wrenching, side-splitting, heart-bursting joy with his brilliance, quick wit, sophisticated communication, and unwavering love for his brother. He is neuro-spicy, with quirks and struggles that mirror Nico’s—but he’s light years ahead of him, which gives me its own kind of unrest.

On one hand, I thank God every day for Max, because I know Nico now has someone who will carry the torch of protection when his father and I no longer can. And while that’s a huge expectation for anyone, Max seemed to understand it the moment he realized Nico was his brother. He is fiercely protective. He includes Nico in every conversation, every game, every question posed to the group. He makes sure his brother belongs in every space we enter as a family.

Just writing that makes my eyes glass over, because I know how much this mattered to my father—how many times he told Max to look out for and love his brother. My father worried every minute of every day about Nico and went to his grave praying that Nico would “open up to us more.”

Max gives my husband and me so much of what we feared we’d never experience with Nico simply because of his level of autism and the limitations that come with it. I think our families feel that too. They’ve always wanted to connect with Nico, but it’s hard when he seems to look straight through them. Max, on the other hand, is endlessly present and can’t get enough family time. He loves his cousins and asks to be with family constantly—which makes living hundreds of miles away even harder.

“Thankful” doesn’t begin to describe how I feel having my sister-in-law here now. She is one of the few people who knows my boys almost as well as I do. She has all my boys’ safe foods stocked up at her home so I have one less place to lug a bookbag full of food and juice to. When you’re raising special-needs children, having people who feel like extensions of you is a true Godsend.

Before we had Max, we never imagined having a child who could tell us about his school day. A child who could sit at the dinner table and join our conversations. A child who could ask for homework help or pull us into a Lego project. A child with a mile-long Christmas list who counts down the days. A child who squeals with joy opening presents and thanks every gift-giver with his whole heart. A child who invites others to play—and is invited back. A child who reminds us daily that he completes us.

A child who holds the key to unlocking Nico’s world because he genuinely wants to know his brother and pull him into his world…our world.

He is the yin to Nico’s yang.
The butter to his bread.
The heads to his tails.
The harmony to his melody.

That is what I’m most thankful for this year. It’s been hard to find silver linings in everything our family has faced with Nico and Max, but I have to be thankful. I have to see the challenges as blessings. I have to embrace the discomfort of my anxiety, because it simply means I’m doing the best I can with what I have. My anxiety is love through a different lens.

So this Thanksgiving, I’m retraining my brain to be thankful for all that I’ve endured—and all that my children endure.

For every moment Nico is living in his own world, and every moment Max is trying to take over mine.

I will be thankful for every night I go to bed exhausted and convinced I’m failing.

For every night I sleep in my boys’ room instead of next to my husband.

I will be thankful for Max’s need to play “Grandpa’s song” on repeat and for Nico’s endless rewatching of the same movie clips.

For Max’s fierce need for control and Nico’s echolalia that never seems to end.

I will be thankful for a job that gives us the work-life balance we need.

For the friends and family who walk with us through this unknown terrain, even when it isn’t easy or fun.

I will be thankful because my parents taught me early that there is always something to be thankful for. I will be thankful because the alternative doesn’t serve me—or my boys. Gratitude is what makes the hardest moments less painful and somehow more meaningful.

And to anyone reading this, I’m thankful for you too—for taking the time to step into my boys’ journey and mine. I hope the read was worth it… lol. Happy Thanksgiving!