I began to write the words I could not send. Email drafts of our story engulfing into heated justifiable demands. The emails were prepared and customized in verbiage meant for once hard-to-reach contacts. Email drafts with the potential to crack open the steel door of their weak services once again. Emails that had the potential to reignite.  

I sat somewhere in between brave and the intense need to just feel unbothered. It had taken so long to rebuild after the fires of what we fought for. Why add fuel? Why now? We were still healing.  

In the meantime, I set up a job training skills opportunity for Jake geared towards teens with autism. A fresh new approach. Another good reason to try. The open arms of something different, and new opportunities to get outside.  

I prepared a weekly home school calendar. We did not have a coach to help us from ABA, and school was a steep mountain. They were past the point of offering more than gloves, hooks, and ropes. The equipment was of no use. Not when Jake was unable to withstand the steepness of the climb.  

 I used a dry erase marker to show Jake how the daily calendar would work. He then chose “learn about different countries” as our first subject to explore. It was a start. Another start of many. The never give up kind.  

I ordered a laminated world map and stopped by the dollar store for seeds, plant pots, paint, and other little supplies. Spring days would soon be in reach. I knew that it was of utmost importance to look forward with positivity. Jake absorbs the energy of what surrounds him. We all do. It was key time to refresh the plans. We had to rebuild from scratch. Rebuild from a place of authenticity. Authentic was the only clear view.  

Balancing was still a feat to master. There was firm certainty in Jake’s personality and who he was to his core. Jake thrived in autonomy. He needed to steer the direction of the sails. This was evident in his daily schedule. His need to go upstairs with his gummy vitamins during the first commercial of the second Jeopardy show. The ownership he takes in turning off the tv and the lights. His half hour of NBA basketball with Dad. Not a minute less. These comforts make Jake happy. These comforts make him feel calm and secure. They help him balance. It is better to move forward this way.  

Of course, we challenge Jake when we can. We always try. We move forward. We Compromise. We prioritize. We do what so many families like us always do.  

Then there are the unexpected moments. The ones that catch us off guard. They are learnings as well. This past Sunday our neighbor smelled something burning in her home. It prompted her to call for emergency help. Fire trucks surrounded our street. Loud male voices and extra red flashing lights changed the colors of our Sunday night game show TV. Jake stood up tall in an overly defensive stance. We were ready before he started. Jake yelled “Fire.Fire.Fire! I’m getting out of here!!” He attempted to run outside at full speed. We stopped him at the door. We stopped him somehow. This was not the attention we needed.  

We took a breath to model what we knew would be a stretch for him to emulate. We tried to slow the moment down. We tried to explain in bursts of failed reassurance. We tried to talk it out. It was too late.  

We were caught in the gravity of the fall. The meltdown had erupted. Jake only said he was shocked. He said he was sorry. Then he screamed on the top of his lungs. Entangled in pure exhaustion, he halted his need to elope. Jake ran upstairs into the dark bedroom. He crashed flat onto the bed.  

I was there. Right by his side. “I am here. You are safe. Take a few slow breaths and take a sip of water. We will talk when you are calm. I understand, that was hard. Good job going to a quiet room. I’ll give you a few minutes. I’ll check on you and give you a hug. These are just some of the clusters of words that come out. They are meant to stamp out the overwhelm. Meant to snuff out the rage.

When I had a moment to inhale, I texted my neighbor. I saw the fire trucks backing up and driving away. She texted back an LOL, and that it was only an odor coming from her crock pot. A false alarm. A simple mistake. No big deal. And everyone was safe.  

Later when Jake was ready, we were able to talk. I showed him the text messages. He was way more himself. He laughed and joked when we saw our neighbor’s crock pot outside on her lawn the next day. We are a family just like any family. We walk the path of so many.  

We move on.  

It was still cold like winter. The sun felt warmer, an almost spring sun. Jake and I explored a few countries on our laminated map. He drove to the car wash with his sister. Jake got outside. The priceless small bits of progress start to warm us. The game shows are back on track. The routine and the family time. The balancing it all.  

The happiness.