Over ten years ago the chances of a child being diagnosed with autism was 1 in 150. Now it's 1 in 68.
    In the 1990's I always had sympathy for the families who were affected by the disorder, but paid little attention to the information. Tragic, but it'll never directly impact me, was my thinking.
    I reasoned that there must have been something that either the mother did, or didn't do during the pregnancy. Perhaps there was a lack of nutrition or essential vitamins. Maybe she engaged in activities too strenuous. I was at the time a kinesiology major, and thought myself knowledgeable about the human body and activities.
    I discovered after the birth of my younger son that my thinking was wrong, extremely wrong. A little after his second birthday, Joseph changed from the bubbly, chatty child to being withdrawn. He had difficulty communicating and engaged in strange repetitive behavior. And there were meltdowns, many of those.
    A visit to a pediatric specialist confirmed my husband's and my fears--Autism. For months I blamed myself, believing that there was something I'd done. I soon realized that my theory of the mother's nutrition/activity level was nuts.  Though researchers are making great strides in pin-pointing the reason, Autism was then, and still is, a mystery.  But I will say with absolute certainty that there is NOTHING that the parents did to cause the disorder, nor NOTHING they could have done to have prevented it.  
    After the diagnosis all the focus was on Joseph. It was a struggle to find a new family doctor who'd take on a child with autism as a patient, and even a bigger struggle to find the insurance that'd fund the services my child needed to be productive.
    Through all of this was Jonathan. I didn't mean too, but because of my sorrow and struggles, there was less time spent with him. I had no clue until I noticed his change in behavior about how he felt. Then I sat, tears streaming down my face, as my child told me of his feelings of sadness, resentment, and even guilt.
Jonathan believed that he was in the way; I was too busy for his accomplishments or trials. He confessed that he'd tried on a few occasions to talk, but I seemed too preoccupied to fully understand what was wrong, so he gave up trying to communicate.
    Jonathan thought, in some small way, that his brother's diagnosis was fault. I hastened to correct his theory. During our conversation, he informed me that he knew of other siblings of children with disabilities who had similar feelings. Jonathan was distressed because there were few support groups for siblings, and there seemed to be few books on the subject. "You're a writer. Write a book about it," he pleaded.
    And so,  many years and several revisions later, He's My Brother, a book based on that memorable conversation was born.

What journey have you taken? What would be your advice to someone else in a similar situation?
                                                              
Additional information:
CTAN
​
Autism Speaks_

National Autism Association

Hollyrod Foundation



Books
Signing to the Angels

Chronic Happy

He's My Brother

Cowboy and Wills