Grateful for Guardian Angels
When autistic children go for a wander, it’s often fatal
“I can’t walk, I’m disabled, so I’m cruising other neighborhoods in my car,” I said, crying.
“We’re going to do our best to find him, ma’am,” the operator said. “What does he look like?”
“He’s thirteen.
White.
About 5 foot 6.
150 lbs.
Short brown hair.
Green eyes.
Wearing basketball shorts.
If he’s wearing a shirt it will be a tank top.
Probably not wearing shoes.
He’s autistic, so he might be aggressive if confused or frightened.”
I gave his description as clearly and calmly as I could, despite the despair and fear I felt. He had never done this before. But today, for the first time, he had gone missing.
I knew I should not have begun letting him go outside on his own. I said to myself, even though there would have been no way of knowing he would do this as he had not done so before.
I kept driving, desperate to catch sight of my son, even if it were in someone’s backyard petting a dog. He had been gone for quite a while, at this point I would be happy to find him even if he had managed to get himself into trouble. I just wanted to find him.
I shouldn’t have gone to the doctor. It’s just a urinary tract infection, I’m sure I could have figured something else out.
He was at home with his sisters, it wasn’t like I had left him alone. This was actually standard procedure, because they were all old enough to be home alone, although I would never leave him at home by himself, but his sisters were there.
It’s always been okay before.
I drove down the main road that connects all the residential neighborhoods together, just in case he had found his way there. I didn’t see him. I was panicking more with each passing second.
I had heard horror stories about autistic children wandering off. They usually have bad endings.
What’s the point of being fucking psychic if I can’t find my son with it?
It worked. You had a bad feeling and you called home. The skills ARE useful.
This was God reminding me that I’d felt that something was off and called my daughter.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen,” I prayed, as I began to hyperventilate. “Please, Mary, please let them find my boy.”
“Jesus, please. Please. I need to find him.”
My phone rang. I answered it with dread.
“One of the officers found your son, he’s bringing him home to you.” The operator said.
“Oh my gosh, thank-you.” I said.
“You’re welcome, I hope he’s okay.”
The relief coursed its way through my body, except that now the adrenaline had nowhere to go and I began to feel a different kind of sick.
I returned home, pulled my walker out of the trunk, just as the Police cruiser came around the corner. The officer let him out of the back of the car.
His body was caked in mud, from his feet all the way up to his chest, and he had scratches, splinters, cuts, and small wounds. He had been badly bitten by mosquitoes, and possibly fire ants. He had obviously been somewhere in the woods, which had been one of my fears.
I tried to hug him, but he doesn’t show emotion in front of others, and so he ran right past me and into the apartment. I knew there would be no talking about his experience until after he had taken a shower, and I could tell whatever had happened had traumatized him.
The officer had found him over five miles down the state highway, sitting in the grass at a major intersection, barefoot and dazed. I had never thought to consider the highway. In fact, it’s the last place I would have looked.
How the hell did he get over five miles? What the fuck had happened to him?
I went inside, and he was just emerging from the shower. I hugged him and cried, and he cried too. He wouldn’t hug me in front of an audience of any size, but he would when we were alone.
As the story emerged, I realized how much his guardian angel had been watching out for him.
He had been wandering in the woods for about two hours. They are thick, dense, wet woods, for over five miles. He had been frightened because he wasn’t sure where he was or how to get back home.
He had sat in the grass at the interesction, he said, because that’s where he had emerged from the woods. He had no idea where he was at, but he was hot and thirsty.
I was grateful we were having “some cooler weather” as the weatherman had called this 80-degree day.
My son was glad I had told the officer what his name was, because he thought he would be safe with a policeman who knew his name.
I’m grateful that my son was found. When autistic children wander off, it is often fatal.
Everyone deals with trauma in their own way.
His father processed his trauma by purchasing a GPS tracking device for our son. He wasn’t the custodial parent, but he had been scared.
My son processed his trauma silently with his cat — in the dark — refusing to leave his room except to eat and use the bathroom.
For the next few days I was barely functional.
I processed my trauma by picking up my rosary and praying.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
Check out another one of my memoirs called Starring in my Own Horror Story. It’s about the night I wanted to be murdered in the cemetary by a friend.
