By Krystal Sieben 
I love this recent picture of me with my husband and two of my kids…it also makes me feel a little sad. My oldest son is missing from this photo.
When I was a new mom, I had the baby who cried at every family event. The baby who cried when people laughed loudly. The baby who once cried so hard he passed out when I let my mother-in-law sit for him because she pressured me to.
That baby grew into the cutest little toddler who was cuddly, funny, and the gentlest big brother ever. At home, he was a very happy child. However, going somewhere new, he would cry. He would cover his ears. He would be so upset for hours if we attended a large family event.
People whispered about him…about my mothering. We were guilted. We were shamed. Comments were made, and unsolicited advice was given.
That toddler then got an autism diagnosis. It wasn’t because of something I, as a parent, did or was doing; it’s that he has a disability that makes large events hard for him. And that’s okay.
This toddler, armed with a diagnosis, began occupational therapy, speech therapy, and attending special education at school. To say he thrived is an understatement. He captured the heart of literally every single teacher, paraprofessional, or therapist he saw. He was sweet, gentle, funny, and kind. He was always these things, but because of the pressure on his parents, we often put him in situations where he wasn’t able to be himself.
This little boy, who in kindergarten only had a handful of words, is now 13.
He likes tacos, the Smurfs movies, and being with his family. He attends school. He likes going swimming.
And he now has enough language to tell me when he doesn’t feel comfortable doing something. Or when something is too hard. And now I have the confidence as a mom to listen.
I told my brother that my oldest couldn’t be at his wedding. No problem at all, he said. Do whatever you guys need to do—and I know he meant it. I didn’t have endless questions that day about where my son was or why he didn’t come. No one made me feel guilty. Everyone was understanding and kind.
My younger two kids say that “Uncle Grayson’s wedding was the best day of their lives,” and I know they mean it. They danced with their aunt and cousins. They wore fancy outfits. They ate too much cake.
My oldest had a sleepover at Grandma’s. I know he had fun.
When I look at the pictures from the wedding, I feel a little bit sad because someone I love is missing. I also feel happy that he is allowed to have autism and be loved by my family, even when he can’t make it.
Sometimes autism looks like a picture with someone missing—and it’s both sad and okay.
by Elizabeth North 
by Stephanie Hanrahan 
