My Broken Record

I wonder if all moms of autistic children hear the same broken record playing over and over in their head all day long. Am I the only one who wakes up in the middle of the night with my heart racing checking to see if this has all just been a bad dream?

Maybe I'm crazy. Not in a lock me up in a pink padded room kind of crazy because
I'm not hearing voices and I don't sit and talk to myself out loud . I mean, I do hear "a voice" but I think it's my own and I'm just talking to myself or maybe it's my way of talking to God.

It's nothing profound. They're just a series of questions I ask repeatedly hoping for an answer to the unknown. My unknown. Sometimes I feel like Columbo trying to crack the case.

Will he ever talk? Is the medicine working? Will he outgrow these seizures? If he does talk is it going to be crazy talk and am I going to be remembering the good old days when he didn't talk? Is he learning anything new? Will his life ever get easier? Who really shot Kennedy? Will he ever just take NO for an answer? Will our lives ever be normal again? What must it feel like to be a Doodle? What does his future hold? Will he ever be independent? What caused this? Is this my fault? Are you even listening to a word I'm saying? Repeat.

So now you know my internal dialog.