You are a thief.
You steal from children.
From the time they are in the womb, barely identifiable on the ultrasound machine.
All the mother can see is a tiny blip on the screen. The image looks like a tadpole.
But then she hears it -- a heartbeat. Strong and steady.
And the tears flow.
Tears of joy -- unavoidable tears springing from her soul, from this unreal feeling that her life will never be the same. From this instant, every decision will be made for this child, this person who isn't even here yet. He might as well be. Because he will be all she is thinking about for the next nine months....
And for the rest of her life ....
And you were there, the whole time, you mother f'er.
Ready to attack my child.
And rob him of his words.
You came into my home.
You robbed us of our joy.
You assaulted us.
You threw at us every weapon in your arsenal.
Fear, insecurity, worry, self-doubt, guilt ...
I didn't want to hear the words.
It was almost six years ago.
I couldn't stand to hear what my son's father was thinking.
He knew, he was positive, he was panicked.
But I couldn't hear it. It wasn't possible. My child was too beautiful, too happy, too lovable.
To accept the label would be to insult my baby.
I couldn't do it.
And you know what you did to us, you son-of-a-bitch, you drove a wedge so deep, so deep, so deep .....
You made me doubt my worth as a woman, as a mother. God must never have wanted me to be a mother. I must have done something horrible in my life to bring this upon my child.
And I cried, and I cried, and I cried.
I did everything they told me to do. The speech therapy, the special needs preschool.
And there you were, the whole time, swatting down my hopes. Laughing at me.
Laughing at us.
Somewhere along the way you and I got to know each other on a first-name basis.
I could say your name out loud, even though I wanted to kill you, to shoot you, to throw you to the ground and kick you over and over and over. If I could take a bat to you, I would swing until my arms popped from their sockets, until I fell to the ground.
Autism, autism, autism.
My family spilt up for you, for a chance to combat you, for some hope that we might be able to conquer you.
And you laughed at us.
You robbed my daughter of a sibling with whom she can talk, with whom she can share her wonderfully creative mind in play. You made her a caretaker when she needs to be the one being cared for.
Oh, you must have had some fun with us. Can I break them? Will they ever find any joy in life again? Will they lose sight of what is important? Can I bring them to their knees?
Well, congratulations, asshole.
You did bring me to my knees, in desperation, in panic, in some worthless attempt to keep things together.
I don't believe I lost sight of what was important, not when all was said and done ....
But .... I am only one person.
In the end, you got what you wanted. You had some help in the form of a complete stranger to you.
And you ripped us to shreds.
But I know this, you may have robbed my child, you may have destroyed my family, but I see the joy that lies within my boy.
There is no purer love than what is in his heart.
And there isn't ANYthing you can do to screw that up.
Now go to hell.