fear

Yep, not the title you might expect for a Thanksgiving post. And, truly, I've been concocting MOST thankful posts in my head; reliving past Thanksgivings and musing about the special things my twins have been doing lately.

And then.

Then one seemingly small thing happens that puts such a pit in my stomach that I can't finish eating my turkey dinner, and spend the rest of the evening thinking of "what ifs".

Did you know that the mortality rate of people with autism is DOUBLE that of typical humans? I know that. I also know that children with autism lack a sense of danger and have a need to wander. These things are always in my brain; why Ben and I double-lock our doors during the day and never, ever leave the gate in the backyard unlocked. Why I often have my front gate locked so securely that the mailman skips our delivery for the day.

However, not every home (or store, or school, or place) is quite as secure as ours. Obviously. For the most part, Ben and I are great at doing fast-scans of every new place. I ask my friend Mollie if I can latch her basement door, and shut the door to the bathroom. I'm always the one to close the main door to music class. I lock my mom's front doors every time we visit.

But sometimes, there are many people going in and out. Sometimes Violet has a new ability to open a door she couldn't on our last visit. Sometimes there's so much conversation going on, and Little Bear is playing so persistantly in the background that you assume your girl is in there watching with the other kids. Even Grandmom, who's in there playing with the kids assumes Violet has gone into a bedroom for her quiet time. You forget *just* how quiet she is, as she sneaks past all of the adults and even shuts the back door behind her as she leaves the house.

In the dark.
In the rain.
In the cold.
In her summer sandals (her pick), dress and diaper.

I go to check on both of my kids, as I do over and over, always. Wherever we are. No Violet. I look upstairs, in her older cousin's beloved bedroom, in the bathrooms, in the basement. My heart begins to race. I call out to Ben that I can't find Violet. I run outside, yelling her name. I realize quickly how stupid this is; she would never answer to her name. I start yelling out that I have a dog....and a cat...and blankie; anything I can think of that might catch her attention.

Let me pause her to describe my sister's house, where we were. She has a good-sized back yard, with a trampoline and a sandbox and playhouse. Also a little duck pen, with a small pond. She lives on a busy street, with a HUGE park and woods across the street, where Violet loves to go. A full dozen horrible places for my girl to want to get herself to.

I'm panicking now. Running across the front lawn to scan the street and the playground in the park.

Finally my sister yells, "I found her".

Breathe.

Violet was in the backyard (thank you, God), in the wet sandbox. Just hanging out.
Soaking wet and cold.
I ran to grab her and she held her arms up and said, "Violet cold".


Such a weird sense of relief, exhaustion and sadness followed. So, so, SO grateful to find my girl okay,  but so filled with a sense of  "this is our life now". She will only grow stronger and smarter and more crafty. I will always, always worry. Some days it feels like a constant battle just to keep her safe.

I wish I had a clever, full-circle kind of closing for this but for now, I'm just sitting in it, and will close with a few photos from yesterday.





we all made Indian corn decorations for Fall



Oliver, out playing in the falling SNOW on Thanksgiving

mommy and violet have matching coats! Happy Thanksgiving!