Raising a child with autism taught me to throw out the script
He was diagnosed when he was three. I remember the fluorescent lights in that waiting room, the little paper cup of water I didn't drink. I had already started grieving something, I just didn't know how to name it yet. I kept thinking about milestones. I'd read too many of those charts.
The takeaway
The grief was never about him. I know that now. It was about an idea I'd had, some imaginary kid I'd been practicing for.