Six o'clock Thursday morning. Sarah had been dreading this day for weeks and it finally arrived. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her strength, got out of bed and donned her robe and slippers.
Walking down the hall she paused to knock on a bedroom door. “Dillon? It's time to get up.”
“I'm already awake.” She opened the door to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for school. His hair was damp and flattened in one patch where he had obviously tried to comb the wayward curls into submission.
“Happy birthday!” She said, forcing a smile.
One corner of his mouth quirked upward and he stared at a spot on the wall beside her. “I'm a teenager now. You can't call me baby or hug me anymore.”
A hint of amusement fluttered in her. He had firm ideas on what being a real teenager meant and cutting off all signs of motherly affection was high on his list. “As long as you remember you will always be my baby, no matter how big you get. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
“No. I was waiting for breakfast.”
“Let's go get some food, then.”
She fixed him his favorite; waffles with syrup in a small cup for dipping. He didn't like the syrup on top because the little squares never filled up the way he liked. The disorderliness of it frustrated him. Disorderliness in any form frustrated him.
“Did you decide where you want to go for your special dinner?” she asked when his food was gone.
“I like Benny's,” he answered, naming a local restaurant. “It's quiet.” He preferred the food at one of the chain restaurants, but it was loud there, with too much activity. He was usually stressed before the food made it to the table.
“Benny's sounds like a great choice.”
“Grandma will be there.” It was a question, stated as fact. Dillon was setting the stage in his head, making sure he knew what to expect. “Because it's my birthday and I'm thirteen.”
“Yes, Grandma will be there.”
“I need top brush my teeth now.” He abruptly rose and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for school.
Sarah fought to contain her tears. Why did he have to get bigger? Every year she struggled, watching him grow. Every day was a triumph, and every triumph took him further away from the safe zone she had worked so long and hard to build. Soon he'd have to make another step forward. A new grade, a new school. She would fight for him, making sure he had a new safe place in his world, knowing that place would also be outgrown far too soon.
Sometimes, being a mom was so damn hard.
“Mom!” he came dashing back into the kitchen, a blob of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. He must have been anxious. He was usually careful to clean his face off.
“What is it, b--” she broke off, remembering just in time. He wasn't to be called that anymore.
He rocked back and forth on his feet anxiously. Staring at the wall beside her once again. “I get presents! When do I get to open them?”
“After we eat dinner.”
“At Benny's, with Grandma?” He shook one of his hands.
“Do you want to open them there or wait until we get home?”
“At home. Benny's sings.” He didn't like the staff surrounding him with the traditional “Happy Birthday,” something they discovered many years ago when he had a meltdown and she had been forced to carry him, screaming, from the restaurant. Her mother smoothed things over as best as she could with the distraught waitresses.
Dealing with Dillon's behaviors went part and parcel with having such a wonderful kid, though. What was a little social embarrassment compared to watching him smile while eating his favorite ice cream or seeing him bouncing with excitement when his grandma walked through the door?
A horn honked and she started. The bus was here already. She tugged the tie of her robe to make sure it was secure and walked him out.
“Morning Ms. Berkshire,” the driver, Mr. Thomas greeted. “How is our boy this morning?”
“Thirteen.” Dillon answered. Mr. Thomas looked at her, questioning.
“Today is his birthday.”
“Well, happy birthday, Dillon!” A smile creased his kind features. “”Did you hear that, Miss Addie?” He called back to the aide, “It's Dillon's birthday!”
Sarah tugged Dillon's arm gently, urging him onto the bus. The bus was too chaotic for him, and she always had to bully him a bit to get him on it.
“Happy birthday, Dillon.” Addie echoed, carefully pulling him up the stairs and pushing him into his seat. “You're gonna have a good day, right?” Dillon gave her a tight nod as she buckled his seatbelt.
Seeing him secured, Sarah stepped back, taking what was the hardest step of her day; the one that left her child in someone else's care. God, did it ever get any easier? From the time he was a baby, on through his first horrific years of school until now, seeing him leave every day to go into the world was so painful. Knowing he needed extra protection from the world and she couldn't be there to provide it always hurt so damned much.
“Happy birthday!” she called, forcing herself to smile and wave when what she really wanted to do was cry. The bus turned the corner and she shivered, realizing she was standing on the street wearing her pajamas and robe while the February wind cut through her. Reluctantly she went back into the house to begin her day.
It was eleven o'clock and she was in the middle of working through one of her client's accounts when the phone rang. The caller ID showed it was the school. Never a good thing.
“Ms. Berkshire, Dillon's having a meltdown. We have him in the office with a councilor. Can you come in?”
“I'm on my way.” She was once again grateful for the home-based job that gave her the flexibility to drop everything if Dillon needed her.
Her mother thought she coddled him, but Sarah felt it was important to be there when she was needed. Once Dillon had finally been properly placed, things had gotten easier, but he still needed his mom. He needed someone who knew him well, someone who could speak for him when he couldn't find the words.
Who better than his mother?
Twenty minutes later, briefed by his teacher, she entered the room where Dillon crouched, curled in a ball in one corner. He had the hood to his jacket pulled over his head and was rocking anxiously. The councilor, Amy, nodded without speaking. They had been through this routine before, and she knew her talking would agitate him right now.
Sarah sat beside him and waited. It only took five minutes for the rocking to stop, a good sign. “It's my birthday.”
“Yes it is. That doesn't excuse you from doing math.”
“Math is boring. I wanted to read.”
“I thought you liked math.” It was his favorite subject and his favorite teacher.
“I like graphing.” He was smart, and advanced in math. He loved numbers and the order they provided.
“Were you not graphing today?” He didn't answer, he just ducked his head and stared at the floor. “I can sit in class with you if you like.”
“I'm done,” he said abruptly. “I'll tell Ms. James I'm sorry. You can stay here.”
Amy gave her an amused grin. He didn't want his mother showing up in class and embarrassing him. “It's time for lunch now. Why don't you go get your tray and bring it back here.” Siting in the loud cafeteria with the general population wouldn't be good for him right after a meltdown, and Amy's suggestion would give him more quiet time before he had to head back to class.
“He's improving.”
Sarah smiled at Amy. “I know. He's come so far.”
“I hear a 'but' in there somewhere.”
“But--” She sighed. How to explain it? “The world is still such a hard place for him. I can't stand watching him fight to make it through every day.”
“Not every day is a fight, though. He's able to operate in the classroom, he's making friends and he's one of the teacher's favorite students. You didn't hear that from me,” Amy joked.
“Of course I didn't. Teachers love all the kids equally, right?”
“Seriously, he's a great kid. He's come a long way from the little boy who hid under tables and screamed all day.”
“I know that. I really do, it's just--”
“You want to make the autism go away.”
“I want the hurt to go away. I hate seeing him hurting. Seeing him fall apart and knowing he knows he's out of control. Watching him around other kids and seeing him ignored, ostracized. He knows he's different and it causes him so much pain.”
“I have to ask something. Dillon thinks his father left because of him. Why would he think that?”
The air whooshed out of Sarah's lungs. “Because his father said so. Often. Loudly. The marriage was dead, and if Dillon had been the perfect child Doug still would have left. The stress in the house made things worse, though.
The fact that Dillon had been completely non-verbal at the time made him the target of his father's anger far too often. One night she told him to leave and not come back until he could mind what he said around their son. It was the last time she'd seen him outside a courtroom.
It suddenly hit her that Dillon heard her tell his father to leave. “Maybe it was my fault too. There was too much arguing in front of him. It was easy to pretend he didn't know what we were saying, but I knew he did. I knew and I fought with his father when he was right there anyway.”
“Don't beat yourself up over that. You are a good mom. One of the best I've seen in all my years of working with special needs kids. We all make mistakes and the only thing we can do about them is just move on.”
“I know. It's not easy though.
Amy nodded in understanding and stood. “Did you want to stay this afternoon?”
“No. If he's doing alright I'll leave. It would be better to keep his afternoon as normal as possible.”
"That's probably the best choice,” she agreed, rising to see Sarah to the door. “We'll call if there are any more problems, but with how quickly he calmed down, I doubt there will be.”
That was true. If Dillon had a small meltdown the rest of his day tended to be exceptionally good.
Back at home, she found a message awaiting her on the machine. “Sarah, darling, it's your mother. I just wanted to make sure we had our plans in place. Give me a call.
She quickly called her mother back. “Sorry I missed you call. I was at the school.”
“Really, Sarah, you need to let the school deal with him when he has a problem," she chided. “You can't spend the rest of your life rushing in to take care of him. What's going to happen when he's grown and on his own?”
“You're assuming he will ever be on his own, Mom.”
“It can happen, but you need to give him a chance.” It was an often repeated argument between the two of them.
“I am giving him a chance, Mom. There is nothing wrong with being available.”
“There is something wrong with it if he never learns to deal with his stress on his own.”
She knew that, but he still felt abandoned by his father, felt his loss as acutely as the day Doug walked out the door. How could she hurt him by taking away his mother when he needed her? She wasn't strong enough, or cruel enough to do that to him.
“He wants to go to Benny's tonight. I already called and they will hold a corner booth for us.” Dillon liked the corner. He never had people talking beside him, and if she sat next to him she could act as a buffer between him and the other diners.
“Excellent. Five o'clock then?”
“Five o'clock. We'll see you there.”
She was behind on her accounting when she heard the bus horn. She'd be up late finishing tonight. When Dillon had a bad day, she would usually be up past midnight catching up on her work.
Dillon charged off the bus, screaming happily. “I'm thirteen. I'm going to Benny's.”
“Yes, she laughed. You are.”
“Will they give me ice cream for my birthday?”
“If they don't, I'll buy you some. It's not a birthday without ice cream.”
He danced around the house for the next hour, rocking back and forth and flapping his hands excitedly. She doubted he would ever outgrow the thrill of turning another year older. She hoped not. His enthusiasm was contagious.
Walking into Benny's he was still dancing. “Grandma! I'm thirteen!”
“I can tell that's been the magic number today,” her mother laughed, rising to greet them.
“It has been,” Sarah agreed with a chuckle. “Have you been waiting long?”
“No. I just got here a few minutes ago.” They hugged before sliding into the booth.
“Um, Mom, can I sit by myself?” Dillon asked, surprising her. He always wanted her to sit next to him, to let him hide behind her.
“Are you sure?”
Her mother cocked one eyebrow at her. Her meaning couldn't have been clearer if she'd said it aloud. See, I told you so. Give him a chance.
She shifted to the opposite side of the booth, and something shook inside her.
Dillon was taking another step toward independence.
Inside her, a corner of her heart seemed to grow and break at the same time. Her baby was growing up. He would never be like other people. He would always be autistic. He'd never drive a car or be able to live without some level of supervision, but his future looked brighter every day.
“Happy birthday, Dillon,” she said, really smiling for the first time that day. “You're really growing up.”
