Before you draw a conclusion to the title of this blog, hang with me until the end. For those of you new here, Jude, our autistic 15 year old son became violent at the age of three and nearly impossible to control. We threw just about everything at him to see change, but he only grew stronger and more volatile. My husband and I made the heart crushing decision to place him in an alternative living situation outside of our home when he was 12 years old. Jude now resides at the Lufkin State Supported Living Center full time, but because he has been stabilized on several psyche meds, we are able to bring him home every weekend.

Only a few weeks ago, we were preparing for him to return home, but a sudden regression of violent behavior temporarily halted the transition. Over the last few visits, I’ve reflected a lot and come to this realization

It pains me to admit it, but this is where I process my raw emotions and I’m learning not to be ashamed of them. The grace I strive to give may not be reciprocated here, but that’s ok. Many of you will find my honesty refreshing, even liberating. You are the ones to whom I write.

I used to be so afraid of my son. Years of explosive outbursts set my nervous system on fire and though my anxiety waned in its intensity, his presence kindled a constant alertness to danger, even while I slept. My dentist counted multiple cracked and chipped teeth from years of night grinding. I’m not one to quickly call something hard and I steer as far from victimization as I can, but it would seem that I am a pretty sure fire case of PTSD. “The body keeps the score” and I’ve acknowledged autism’s undeniable victories over me mentally and physically.

I’ll never forget the moment I drove away from the Terrell State Hospital after leaving my son there for an emergency placement. The anxiety that poisoned every part of my body immediately left, but was replaced with grief. Wildly enough, I gladly welcomed the change. Depression was much more manageable for my body to bear than the constant fear.

We brought Jude home many times in the first year after he was permanently placed at the SSLC, but those early visits were hard. He was still having occasional meltdowns and the impact from years of traumatic experiences with him put us on edge the entire time. I prayed for God to help my husband safely make it back during every transport, hoping Jude didn’t have a moment of rage and grab the wheel. Every visit was scheduled with trepidation, but we loved our son and he was begging to come home. We always carefully looked at the behavior data before scheduling a visit, but it was still scary for us.

On the other hand, there were many times during that first year that we had to visit him at the SSLC because bringing him home proved to be too risky. It was during those visits, that I was much less afraid, really completely unafraid and relaxed. The environment was secure, staff was nearby to provide back up if we needed it, and our other kids were safely distanced back home. I cried nearly every time we left, but I didn’t feel afraid. Being with Jude during those visits brought me the purest joy. Ironically,

The SSLC harnessed our fears. Before, the “what if’s” of Jude’s disability were wildly untamed, and on top of that, we felt alone. It was completely up to us to keep everyone safe, and that’s a lot for any human to carry. Even when we had bad home visits, we knew that if we could just get Jude back to the SSLC, everything would be ok. This kept our anxiety segmented. Prior to placement, it was an ever growing crescendo.

The brain is intelligently designed to self preserve. After so many attacks, there was no convincing my fight or flight response that Jude was not a threat. That was biology I had no control over, yet there was a contradicting facet of that same biology waring against it. My maternal instinct kept me from running away for good. He was still my son and I could never abandon him. It was, and still is, the most bazaar internal conflict I can imagine-one that displays beautifully the invincible and divine nature of a mother’s prevailing love.

During those first two years, unless we were at the SSLC, enjoying Jude always ran parallel with not enjoying him. The constant suppression of my anxiety when he was home exhausted me. But, over the last 12 months, Jude gradually stabilized. About four months ago, we started increasing the frequency and duration of his visits home and with every successful one, we all started to relax. In fact, we not only relaxed, we were enjoying our time together and the fear was reduced to a faint background noise. Jon was the last to fall in line, and that only seems natural since he ultimately is the one responsible for our safety. To this day, he struggles most to enjoy Jude’s home visits. In contrast, the children were first to say, “Why does he have to go back? When does Jude get to come home next? I don’t want my brother to leave.” The newfound peace of knowing their brother was no longer a threat liberated their stunted affections for him. And though their relationships lately bloomed, they have not only caught up, but have in my opinion, exceeded average sibling love. They dote over and lavish him with physical affection when he is home and that has been redemptively healing for my heart.

When we were about to move Jude home, the enjoyment of his visits started to diminish for not only me and Jon, but some of our children too. The fear was creeping back in and tarnishing our time together. In all honesty, though the abrupt change of plans to move Jude home broke my heart, there was a sense of relief. I felt guilty for feeling that way, but how could I not? This was a huge step of faith. We would be burning the ships that sailed us to a new life. Would the in home supports be enough? Would he regress quickly? He was even bigger now. If he did regress, what would aggression look like now that my son was nearly a man? The unknowns of a home move stole our newly discovered gift of enjoying our Jude. The fear had returned and we were all quietly grieving it, not wanting to be selfish.

Jon and I haven’t officially decided not to move Jude back home, but it’s pretty clear that we are able to enjoy our son more if we don’t cut our ties with the SSLC. I think we’ve learned that having a rock solid support system if things do go off the rails is key to keeping that infectious fear at bay. In fact, even if fear wasn’t the main threat, having respite from the constant weight of caregiving is vital to our mental health and maintaining a healthy relationship with our son. The weekly separation at the SSLC equips our family mentally and practically to welcome Jude home every Friday with genuine joy. It’s a psychological safeguard knowing that the SSLC will receive him back into their capable hands each Sunday evening. Do I write this with a light and happy heart? No. It stings to admit this reality, but it is a reality nonetheless and proven to be a divine provision that we gratefully accept with humility.

In the end, it’s true. I enjoy Jude more now that he’s not here anymore. I think we all do. It’s a classic example of quality of over quantity and as much as I’d like them both, his autism doesn’t afford us that luxury. So, I’ll count my blessings and relish the answered prayers that came in ways I never would have expected or even wanted. God knows what He’s doing and I’ll keep trusting.