We sat there glued to the hospital chairs, staring at the two grave faces looking back at us, not really believing our own ears. “I’m afraid your son is autistic.” I remember the extreme rush of thoughts going through my head at that moment. It was like my brain was working overtime, jumping between colorful images of my dear little boy with his bright blue eyes and vague depressing images of him in the future, sitting somewhere all alone and staring at nothing at all. To me, these drastically contrasting images didn’t make sense. While a part of me knew the truth of what was being said deep down inside, another larger part was screaming with protest. It couldn’t be! Not my happy little boy who was always smiling and giving me his special little hugs while declaring his love for me. I heard my voice slowly asking with a mix of doubt and hope: “Are you sure?” With all the certainty in the world, one pair of grave eyes looked directly at me, followed by a single word: “Yes”.
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