Personal Narrative
lieve the shock of the diagnosis was more intense because , as we sifted through our future life events , we could see nothing that would bring us joy . But happiness finds its way . Always .
For almost a decade , I have been through selfdoubt a million times . I have wondered whether my idea of happiness is real or just a pretension of happiness . Am I trying to look away from our grief and our worries by putting up a facade of a smiling face and an ignorant glee ? Am I mistaking something else for happiness because I fear I ’ ll have very few reasons for it ?
While children my son ’ s age were making friends and setting up playdates , we used to get excited if our son reciprocated with “ hi ”, or waved back , or turned around when we called his name . While his classmates were discussing their favorite superhero or sports figure , we were smiling all day over the fact that our son was able to say “ water ” when he was thirsty and “ cereal ” when he was hungry .
While his classmates were composing small poems and writing essays , we were ecstatic over the fact that our son could identify letters . Now that he is almost 12 , we have not stopped raving about the fact that he can type and spell his name .
I don ’ t remember how many videos I ’ ve recorded of him typing his name . I am sure my friends are being polite by not reminding me that I have already shared those videos with them more than a couple of times . Although our happiness seldom overlapped with what other parents were rejoicing about , we did find our own reasons to smile .
For almost a decade , I have been through selfdoubt a million times . I have wondered whether my idea of happiness is real or just a pretension of happiness .
The phrase ‘ a different kind of happy ’ is what defines our happiness . Our happiness is in the little things ...
Sometimes I wonder if it ’ s delusional of me to spend most days laughing , playing , and running around with my son , talking to him about random things while he looks at me with his big , curious eyes when I should be worried sick over the fact that I still need to help him with all his daily routines .
Is happiness playing tricks on me because it is so hard to find in my situation , or am I generally content with how my life has shaped up despite my son ’ s autism ? Have I made peace with my situation and allowed happiness to permeate our lives ? I find myself questioning this every so often .
Recently , someone close to me celebrated a huge milestone for their child , something I knew my son would probably never achieve . While I rejoiced in their happiness , I came back home wondering if I will ever be at that stage . I wondered if I ’ d ever experience happiness like them .
As I was mulling over these questions , like so many times in the past , I shared my thoughts with my husband . Without missing a beat , he replied : “ Of course we will be happy ! We will be a different kind of happy !”
It was a simple phrase but it hit the right spot in my heart , blowing away my reluctance to be happy with abandonment — and bringing in the gentle breeze of complete acceptance .
The phrase “ a different kind of happy ” is what defines our happiness . Our happiness is in the little things : a new word said , a different texture tolerated , an unexpected warm hug , a failed attempt , but an attempt nonetheless , a full night of sleep ,