When Ewan was diagnosed with Autism, it was a relief yes, that I was not crazy. But there was also grief. I don't say this to imply that I felt all hope was gone or that autism is a curse--I don't believe in either of those things. But grief applies to more than just death. Grief is about loss. And I lost something that day in the doctors office. Just as in the same way I lost something the day the ultrasound tech told me I was getting a boy and not a girl. I was thrilled beyond belief because I desparately wanted a boy, but I also realized I definitely was not getting a girl.

Grief comes in many forms and we all experience it differently. For me, I have gone through stages of shock, blame, denial, depression, panic, guilt, adjusting, and acceptance. And I have gone back and forth all along those stages as a new developmental phase hits or some other aspect of my life is different than I thought it would.

When Ewan was diagnosed with Eosinophilic Esophagitis, I grieved. Our whole family grieved. We had lost a dinner table and a relationship with cheese that we can never fully get back! Everything in our life was turned around in an instant. One day we are happily eating what we want and the next we found our cupboards bare of every food that had given us joy. We were all in shock and that included Ewan. The whole family went through denial, maybe he really doesn't have that. We were depressed over the loss of Doritos and Cheese Its and Goldfish crackers (Skye is still mad about the loss of those!). We felt guilt when we snuck food in to eat in our bedrooms or the bathroom so Ewan wouldn't see us. We went through it all until we finally accepted it as a part of our life. We even accepted the scopes and trips to hospitals as just a part of our life. Our normal wasn't your normal, but we were happy (and still are!).

There is a light at the end of these processes, this grief. It takes time though and when you are still in shock, the light can seem so far away. Whatever you are experiencing, a diagnosis of autism, something like an eosinophilic disorder, or something completely different--a loss is a loss and when you start that journey down the road less traveled, the light may feel as if it is only a pinprick in the dark. But each step takes you closer. Each action has a reaction. Until eventually you can see the light if not touch it and feel the warmth of it on your skin.

Know that we are all together in this as parents and caregivers of those with various needs and abilities. Don't face the dark alone, find support wherever that might be. Contact a support group in your area and if there isn't one, make one. There is comfort in numbers!