I met Denial over 10 years ago. When she first came into my life, I had no idea the impact she would have on me. Denial was the friend I clung to the most. The friend I counted on to get me through some tough days. The friend who was always there when I needed her...and even some days when I didn't. Denial was the friend who plopped down at my kitchen table, slept off her wine buzz in my spare bedroom and took up residence inside my head. And she never even brought wine. Pfft.

Denial also helped me block out things in my past that were tough to look back on. Things that I choose not to remember because, well, Denial suggested I shouldn't focus on "those" moments. And I listened to her. Denial is a tough cookie.

For many of us who had The A Word sort of whispered across an expert's desk, Denial is a friend we spent at least a little time with, sometimes before we heard the word, and sometimes even after. Denial is the friend who stays too long, talks too much, spouts her opinions way too often and is a horrible influence on you. In short, Denial is the friend your mother always warned you about. And just like when you ignored your mom's advice on that "no good blankety-blank-blank hoodlum boyfriend", chances are, you ignored her about Denial too. And just like with your "no good" boyfriend, you eventually had to figure it out on your own, in your own time and in your own way...only this time without matching tattoos.

Denial is the friend who usually shows up, right after Fear leaves. So, just when Fear closes the door and you finally think you are alone, you are reminded that you are not. Fear and Denial are the friends you no longer really hang out with, but, you know that they showed up in your life for a reason....and a season...or two...or ten. And rather than beating yourself up for your poor friend choices (just like you do for that old boyfriend and that tattoo), you have to remember that you chose them, just as much as they chose you. And that's ok because you have since moved on, and thanks to them, your eyes and your heart are now open.

I have decided that I can continue to beat myself up for running with the wrong crowd for so long, or I can laugh at the impact that crowd had on me and how much I have grown since then. Like with most things, I choose to laugh because laughter really is the best medicine, along with a good bottle of red wine that a REAL friend brings over when she stops to visit.

Here are 12 ways that I know Denial showed up and stayed too long:

1. Back when Ryan's sensory system was on such heightened alert, Denial told me that when I was blow drying my hair, it wasn't the sound of the hair dryer that caused Ryan to run around like a wild banshee screaming, it was because he was upset I was ignoring him and focusing on my latest hair style. Made perfect sense.

2. Denial also assured me that Ryan's lack of eye contact, especially when he looked out the corner of his eyes, was not because making eye contact was difficult for people with autism, it was because he was too busy looking at things that were much more interesting than his boring, old, nagging mom who constantly said, "Look at Mommy Ryan". (And maybe because of that latest hairstyle too.)

3. When Denial stopped by and I would tell her how sad I was that Ryan didn't have friends, she assured me it wasn't because Ryan struggled to make friends, it was because he hadn't found any friends worth his effort. That was so much less painful to believe.

4. Denial also lead me to believe that when Ryan would spin and spin and spin under the ceiling light in our kitchen, it wasn't because he was trying to self regulate, it was because he was spinning to see where the screws were on the light fixture so I could change the lightbulb (even if the lightbulb did not need changed).

​5. The screaming, crying, meltdown at EVERY SINGLE haircut was because Ryan wanted to keep his hair long and every time I walked him into the hair salon, I was betraying his wishes, Denial assured me. She poo-pooed my concern that the tears and the screams for help could be a sensory issue and perhaps a red flag for (whisper) The A Word. He does prefer his hair long, so Denial may have been onto something.

6. When Ryan would cry, "No Miss Joanie's class, no, no, no!" every time we pulled into his Music for Children Class, it wasn't because the banging and clanging of drums, tiny cymbals and maracas by a group of two year olds was too overwhelming for him, Denial assured me that with Ryan's musical gift, his protest was because he felt they should be singing Ava Maria, not Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. (Seriously, "Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder WHAT you are" ? It's a star, they lyrics just told us it as a star. Duh.)

7. Denial always made me feel better when I would watch Ryan pull away from other people's hugs or touches because she assured me it wasn't his dislike of touch that caused him to behave that way, it was because no one gave hugs like me. I am a good, big hugger. Seriously, I am.

8. Every time we tried something new or different and Ryan would wig out, Denial told me it was not autism or the need for things to remain the "same", it was because the old way worked, so why mess with what works?! If it ain't broke, don't fix it. 

9. Denial also said that new clothes, new shoes, new coats, etc weren't due to Ryan's extremely sensitive sensory system, it was just because Ryan knew how much I loved new clothes, new shoes, new coats, etc and he wanted me to spend the money on myself. Such a sweet, sweet boy. (Dang, that Denial was goooooo-ooood).

10. The reason Ryan ate the same food, day in and day out, wasn't because he had autism, it was so I would ALWAYS know what to make him and I wouldn't EVER get it wrong. Because when you did get it wrong, well, suffice it to say, even Denial would leave the kitchen before the blow up began.

11. "Stop sweating it!", Denial would shout at me when I would obsess over Ryan's scripting of videos, movies, and games. "Maybe Ryan thinks Thomas the Tank Engine's Day is more exciting than his own so that's why he talks like Sir Topham Hatt and not Ryan". Thomas did have a fascinating life on the Island of Sodor, and well, we do not live on an island.

12. "He's fine." 

She did have that last one right, but, for all the wrong reasons. Denial told me Ryan was "fine" because that's what I wanted to hear, but, believing in "fine" didn't get Ryan the services he needed. Ryan was fine...in fact, he was perfect, but, he still needed support, support that as his mother I couldn't give him and that was the toughest thing that Denial NEVER said. Yeah, it was time for Denial to get out of my kitchen, out of my spare room, out of my head.

I admit, it was hard telling Denial to leave, and sometimes, I would let her pop in even though I knew I shouldn't (just like that hoodlum boyfriend). Heck, sometimes she still does, but, I had to let Denial go to make way for the friend that I really needed more than anyone....Acceptance.

One day, Acceptance did show up and she helped me see all that Denial kept me from seeing. Acceptance didn't stay as long as Denial, because I didn't need her to. Once Acceptance came and said her piece, my eyes and my heart opened, and I knew I could manage on my own...once I found Ryan the supports he needed to manage on his own.

Denial was a huge part of my journey. Just like real friends come in and out of your life, regardless of how long they stay, they leave a mark that without, you might not be who you are today. So, even though Denial lead me astray for longer than I would have liked, I don't think I would be on the path I am today without her, and therefore, Ryan may not be where he is today either.

I'm sure Denial quickly left here and sat down at someone else's table and set up residence in their head. For those of you running in the same circle with Denial, I want you to know that she is there for a reason, but, don't let her stay long. Your child's future depends on you making it on this journey without Denial whispering in your ear. So, when she stops to visit, make her bring the wine and send her on her way quickly.

You got this without her. I promise you do. 

It's that festive time of year, where I insist that my family sticks to all the traditions of years gone by regardless of how old the kids have become or how horrific the tradition was last year. How quickly one forgets the swearing, and cursing with each little hoof as we wander aimlessly searching for the perfect Christmas tree. Well, this year was no different. And after the tree was cut down, dragged to the car, rigged up in the family room (more swearing) and trimmed with ornaments of Christmas' past, we made a solemn promise (through more swearing) that we will NOT do that again next year. Until next year rolls around, of course.

One tradition that we all still love (I swear, it's not just in my mind) is watching all of our favorite holiday movies. The Grinch, Christmas Vacation, It's a Wonderful Life, Bad Santa (that one is for mom and dad only) and our all time favorite, The Polar Express. The magical movie that makes us all want to believe.

The Polar Express was dug out of the Christmas movie archives and watched on Friday night. As we all snuggle in under our blankets with the glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warmth of the fire, I think regardless of age, regardless of time, regardless of how many lights have burned out on that glorious traditional Christmas tree, in those two hours, each and every one of us does indeed believe. Believing is good for the soul. 

We ask that children believe in Santa, believe in flying reindeer and believe in a magical train ride to the North Pole, all things that they can't see, and yet, they do. You know why? Children believe with their hearts. They don't have to see to believe. "The most real things in the world are the things we can't see", said the Polar Express conductor and sadly, just days after watching and believing, I watched a very different video that showed me that sometimes even when I did see, I didn't believe.

After a night out celebrating one of our dear friend's birthday and a quick stop at another friends' Christmas party, Dan and I decided to throw in a DVD of some of our home movies at 10:45PM. It was the highlight of my week.

Yes, there was a lot of nostalgic tears and the astonishment of why I ever wore my hair THAT way, but, mostly I sat mesmerized by this face. In the videos Ryan was 3, not yet diagnosed with autism, but, both speech and OT services were in place for "developmental delays".

While watching the videos, I certainly saw some of what concerned me back then. The brief eye contact, the looking out of the corner of his eyes, the scripting of the entire Charlie Brown Thanksgiving video (which was freaking hysterical) and the way he was the only child in his daycare Christmas play sitting down, falling down and wandering around the stage. I saw in the videos glimpses of what was "different".

But what amazed me, AWEnestly what shocked me, was how in most ways he looked the "same". The way he chased the dog, the way he asked for "another present for RyRy", the way he followed his brother, the way he told us every shape of all the Christmas cookies he was baking with messy, flour covered hands and the way he ran to me, smiling from ear to ear after his daycare Christmas show and jumped into my arms with the most beautiful, heartfelt, "Mommy!".

It was almost 1AM and I couldn't stop watching these videos. My husband was snoring loudly and my daughter Emma was sound asleep with the glow of the Christmas lights shining on her face. I was alone with only these video images running through my brain and the stark realization that at the magical, glorious age of 3, words like "developmental delay", "sensory processing disorder" and "The A Word" were constantly at the forefront of my brain, blocking me from seeing and believing. This brain block caused me to focus on all that I felt was "wrong", blinding me to all that was "right".

Ryan was funny, brilliant, snuggly, loving, rambunctious, beautiful and perfect, and I hate that I had to see that on a home movie. I hate that all those years ago, I did not see or believe...in him. Years later, through the lens of a camcorder I saw more that was the "same" than was "different". I'm just sorry I didn't see it with my own two eyes and believed with my heart as it was happening before me 11 years ago.

Ryan was, is, and always will be AWEsome, and as I watched a much younger mom (with a horrific hairstyle) snuggle him, praise him, cheer for him and love him, I think even through my concern and fear, I always believed that, even though sometimes I failed to see it.

Sometimes you really do have to see to believe and other times even seeing doesn't help you believe. I guess that's why believing...really, truly believing, has to come from your heart. Maybe back then, my heart was just too scared to believe what and who was right in front of me. Back in those days when the fear in my brain blocked the belief in my heart, I did in fact believe that "different" meant less. I worried that "different" stood out more than "same" and that "different" would always cause my heart to fear believing.

My hairstyle is better now and my heart has certainly made a turn for the best. I am no longer a doubter and every time I see my boy sing, every time I read a paper he has written for school and every time he almost knocks me down with his back pounding hugs, I hear "the bell ring...as it does for all who truly believe". 

Yes, I believe.

We have all been there. We have all felt it. We have been the one left behind, we have been the one who has moved on. It happens in childhood and adulthood. It often happens without cause, without blame. It just happens. Circumstances change, times change, people change. It's hard, it hurts, but, we learn from it and we grow. But, no matter what we learn or how much we grow, in that moment, no matter if you are the one walking away or the one watching someone go, moving on is ouchy.

A lot of times we see it coming, but, choose to look away. It is a slow, barely discernable shift. The invites stop coming. The time between phone calls or get togethers becomes longer. There are new faces, new names, new friends on social media, in the bus seat, at the lunch table. As parents who have lived through moving on moments, we see the signs, we can tell the change is coming, but, somehow, when it's your kid, you want to ignore the signs, unsure of where the signs will point your child next. It's one thing when it's your heart, it's a whole new ball game when it's your kid's heart. 

I saw it coming over this past year, and even though my heart always knew the moment would come, I was still amazed at how much the words took me by surprise. "So, do you still sit with so and so at lunch every day?" I asked while making conversation waiting for the bus. "Not too much anymore, he's moved on", he said nonchalantly. "Wap!" That was the sound of those signs I tried so hard to ignore smacking me right in the face. Like I said, the signs were there, but, I pretended not to see them. My friend Denial had been stopping by again for wine, but, as soon as Ryan said the words "move on", Denial jumped out of the car and boarded the bus with Ryan and I was left alone to process those words and what they meant.

When your child has autism, when making friends is hard, having a friend, THE friend, move on is hard...at least for the parent who watches the friend go. I'm not saying Ryan doesn't care that his friend has "moved on" (just an aside, I was shocked he used the phrase "move on" in the first place), I'm saying he doesn't talk about it. With the exception of the words, "he's moved on", I have no idea how Ryan is feeling, however, I do know how hard it was for him to get here, to have a friend and to be a friend.

For a long time, to me the word "friend" was known as "The F Word" and yeah, it was as derogatory as that other F word that ryhmes with truck. Most of the negative connotation with the word "friend" was my problem, not Ryan's. So when THE friend came along and stopped, I was elated. So now, that THE friend has "moved on", I may not know how Ryan feels, but, I certainly know how I feel, and it's a mix of sadness and gratitude, but, mostly gratitude. Just like a neurotypical kid having a friend move on, as a parent, I can't make the friend stay, but, I can make sure the friend knows how glad I am that he stopped on his way.

So to the friend who has moved on, my first and most meaningful words that I hope you will take with you as you go, are thank you. Thank you for taking the time to stop when many kept going. Thank you for seeing him when others did not. Thank you for trying when others gave up. Thank you for being his friend for years, when others moved on immediately.

I knew the time would come when things like Mario and Minecraft would not hold your attention the way it continues to hold his. I knew things like hanging out with friends, going to parties, making new friends, trying new things and maybe even (gulp) girls would supercede Mario taking out Bowser in level 10 of Super Smash Brothers. I knew that one day you would want more from a friend than he is able to give. I knew that you would move on. I get it and I'm happy for you. Really, genuinely happy for you.

I'm also happy for Ryan. You stayed long enough to show him what it's like to have a friend. I'm happy that Ryan learned to try and put others first. I'm happy he learned to celebrate your victory rather than cry over his defeat whether it was on the mini golf course or on the Wii, Ryan learned to be happy for a friend. I'm happy that after years of not having a friend, Ryan learned what he had been missing and he learned that from you.

I hope that you learned a little from him too. Like how to understand and accept people who don't always fit the mold of everyone else at the lunch table. How to be friends with someone who does not "share personal information" and how to destroy mutliple zombies with your eyes closed on Minecraft.

Eleanore Roosevelt said, "Many people will walk in and out of your life, but, only true friends will leave footprints in your heart". I believe there will always be footprints in each of your hearts representing a time where you and Ryan both stood together. And although you may have "moved on", you are always welcome to bring your footprints back up our sidewalk where you will find a friend happy to see you again waiting with a can of Pringles in one hand and a Wii Controller in the other. 

And if that moment does not arise, I want to wish you well and thank you for preparing him for the next friend who will eventually leave footprints on our sidewalk and in his heart. Ryan will eventually let that friend in, because YOU showed him how to open the door.