Why We Walk: “But Mom…”
By Judith Ursitti
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
By Judith Ursitti
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
It was 4:00 a.m. when I heard the sound of a hushed whisper through the baby monitor. Half asleep, half wondering if it was all a dream, I recognized the voice of my seven year-old daughter Amy talking to her little brother. She was camping out in his room since it was Saturday night and I had given them permission to have a sleepover.
“Jack …” she whispered… “I love you buddy. I'm so proud of you.”
She paused.
“I think you're a great person.”
“Jack …” she whispered… “I love you buddy. I'm so proud of you.”
She paused.
“I think you're a great person.”
I smiled to myself, wondering what had triggered this heartwarming expression of devotion in the wee small hours of the morning. Where in the world had she heard that? Maybe it just came straight from her heart. How incredibly pure and sweet. Around our house we call moments like those sunshine moments. I absolutely savor them.
Little did I know there were storm clouds on the horizon.
“But Mom,” moaned Amy, crossing her arms and scowling at me, “I don't WANT to walk today. Do I have to…..”
I stood in the bedroom door early the following morning, arousing Amy from dreams of Zac Efron and all things pink. Her attitude had definitely changed and she was now suffering from a serious case of “I really, really hate having a brother with autism and I would rather stay in bed” burnout. Oblivious to her plight, Jack jumped out of bed and ran down the hall, muttering to himself all the way.
To be honest, I can't say that I really blamed her. Since Jack had been diagnosed with autism two years earlier, our family had attacked it with a vengeance. His diagnosis was completely unexpected, blindsiding our dreams of normalcy and sending us into a tailspin of grief and worry. Once were able to wrap our minds around the fact that our sweet Jack did indeed have autism, we knew we had a crucial choice to make: We could either be bitter or better. We could play the blame game or be part of the solution. It was a conscious decision and on some days it was easier than others to follow through. But as we learned firsthand about the heartbreaking lack of resources and the need for credible research leading us on the path to a cure, we knew we had to take action.
So we formed Team Jack Attack with Autism Speaks. We put one foot in front of the other.
And we walked.
We walked in Austin. We walked in Dallas. We walked in Phoenix. And on this chilly but breathtaking New England morning we were walking in Providence at the Southern New England Walk Now for Autism.
Amy begrudgingly laced up her tennis shoes and came along. As we walked that day, I glanced over and silently observed as her dad pulled her aside and lovingly put his arm around her.
“You see this Ames,” he said, gesturing to the crowd of thousands of walkers. “This is why we're here. All of these people are walking because of one thing -- autism. They need our help and we need them to help us. If we don't take time to care, who will?”
Amy looked up and smiled a gapped-tooth smile at her dad and then gazed over at her little brother as I trudged along, pushing him in his red stroller. She then let out her beautiful, obnoxious laugh and broke into full sprint, never looking back.
I sighed a deep sigh of relief and looked around at the crowd myself, touched that so many people would take the time to show up. Overwhelmed that so many -- too many -- were affected.
So on that chilly New England Sunday, Amy walked for the thousands.
And she walked for the 1 in 150….
And even though she would have much rather been home in bed like so many other seven year-olds, having never even heard the word autism, she walked for the one in the red stroller I lovingly pushed up the hill.
Here's to you, Miss Amy. Mom loves you and is so incredibly proud of you.
I think you're a great person.
Judith Ursitti lives in Dover, Massachusetts and is wife to Andy, and mom to Amy and Jack. To read more about Judith's journey of hope, visit her blog Autismville at Parents.com.
Little did I know there were storm clouds on the horizon.
“But Mom,” moaned Amy, crossing her arms and scowling at me, “I don't WANT to walk today. Do I have to…..”
I stood in the bedroom door early the following morning, arousing Amy from dreams of Zac Efron and all things pink. Her attitude had definitely changed and she was now suffering from a serious case of “I really, really hate having a brother with autism and I would rather stay in bed” burnout. Oblivious to her plight, Jack jumped out of bed and ran down the hall, muttering to himself all the way.
To be honest, I can't say that I really blamed her. Since Jack had been diagnosed with autism two years earlier, our family had attacked it with a vengeance. His diagnosis was completely unexpected, blindsiding our dreams of normalcy and sending us into a tailspin of grief and worry. Once were able to wrap our minds around the fact that our sweet Jack did indeed have autism, we knew we had a crucial choice to make: We could either be bitter or better. We could play the blame game or be part of the solution. It was a conscious decision and on some days it was easier than others to follow through. But as we learned firsthand about the heartbreaking lack of resources and the need for credible research leading us on the path to a cure, we knew we had to take action.
So we formed Team Jack Attack with Autism Speaks. We put one foot in front of the other.
And we walked.
We walked in Austin. We walked in Dallas. We walked in Phoenix. And on this chilly but breathtaking New England morning we were walking in Providence at the Southern New England Walk Now for Autism.
Amy begrudgingly laced up her tennis shoes and came along. As we walked that day, I glanced over and silently observed as her dad pulled her aside and lovingly put his arm around her.
“You see this Ames,” he said, gesturing to the crowd of thousands of walkers. “This is why we're here. All of these people are walking because of one thing -- autism. They need our help and we need them to help us. If we don't take time to care, who will?”
Amy looked up and smiled a gapped-tooth smile at her dad and then gazed over at her little brother as I trudged along, pushing him in his red stroller. She then let out her beautiful, obnoxious laugh and broke into full sprint, never looking back.
I sighed a deep sigh of relief and looked around at the crowd myself, touched that so many people would take the time to show up. Overwhelmed that so many -- too many -- were affected.
So on that chilly New England Sunday, Amy walked for the thousands.
And she walked for the 1 in 150….
And even though she would have much rather been home in bed like so many other seven year-olds, having never even heard the word autism, she walked for the one in the red stroller I lovingly pushed up the hill.
Here's to you, Miss Amy. Mom loves you and is so incredibly proud of you.
I think you're a great person.
Judith Ursitti lives in Dover, Massachusetts and is wife to Andy, and mom to Amy and Jack. To read more about Judith's journey of hope, visit her blog Autismville at Parents.com.
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