I wonder if when they get here they will smell the popcorn we burnt two nights ago? Or will they be flabbergasted by the behavior of the dogs? Will they jot down in their notes how crazy and hectic it seems here? As I brush off the dog hair from the couch for them to sit on, will they question my homemaking skills?Will they question my ability to be the best support system for my son? Will they see the anxiety all over my face?

We have our annual case worker meeting with and for our son tomorrow. All his case workers will come to our home to assess him and us and our home. Nothing to panic about at all. These are nothing new to us at all. This should be a piece of cake, right?  Yes, if it is a cake made out of glass and nails. This is difficult, and heart wrenching . We have been doing a variation of these meetings for 17 years. Not always in the home, but always stress inducing. The questions asked are personal, and hard to hear and answer. Our role in things has changed as our son as grown. Where I used to do all the talking and answering of the questions, now I sit and pray what he says doesn’t offend anyone, or raise an eyebrow. I brace myself for the blame thrown at me  that he uses as a defense mechanism. I stare at the case workers hoping they can hear what I am saying in my head. And my heart breaks a little each time. With each jab thrown my or my husbands way, I hope they can see we are doing all we can. More importantly I hope they can read through his sharp tongue and wit to see the truth.

No one ever tells you these things. How when you know these meetings are coming you are in panic mode for the weeks leading up to it. They don’t tell you when they are little and you are in control of everything to get them help, that eventually they grow up and your role changes. That you have to stand in two worlds, making decisions for your adult child, that you prayed he would be able to make on his own. That you have to walk a tightrope, to treat him with respect, while still treating him like a child. But he is not a child. And that is heartbreaking.

Someone asked me the other day if they “grow out” of autism. The simple answer is no.  When he was a child, even with having autism, we could excuse away some things because of his youth. Adulthood seemed so far off. And then he became an adult, and there was nowhere to hide. The services he had in school vanished and we had to start over.We had to begin again. We have had many case workers. Some who understood his humor, and how he hides behind it. Some did not.It is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get. Tomorrow we are meeting some of them for the very first time. I will spend the first half of the assessment apologizing for the things he says, making sure they understand he is joking. He calls everyone he meets for the first time a communist. He means it in the nicest way possible. I will make sure they get that we always answer questions with lines from our favorite movies. I will brace myself for the bus he is about to throw us under. I find tire tracks appealing. And hopefully after it is over, we will all laugh, ( I will wait to cry until I close the door behind them) and surely they will make that little check mark in the box saying all is well. ( quit calling me Shirley.)