I knew it the moment I saw him this morning. Something about the angle of his head, the placement of his eyes. The way he went directly into the living room and started humming, humming, lost in his own world.

Regression.

Blue Eyes and I had been hoping to go as a family to the monthly potluck that our friends have — to celebrate each other and this beautiful spring day. When we mentioned it to Joseph he cried, saying he didn’t want to go, he couldn’t go, he was scared of the dog, he wanted to stay home.

We couldn’t go. It would have been ridiculous to drag him, in this state, to a home filled with people on the inside and dogs on the outside.

I don’t know quite how to describe the panic and moroseness that we, as Joseph’s parents, go into when he regresses.

First off, we try to solve it. We think, what brought this on? Is it because we let him have a tiny bit of salad dressing with dairy in it yesterday? (Could the tiniest bit of dairy really do this?) Did he sleep really badly? Is it all the pollens floating around? Or, we ask hopefully, is he simply on the brink of a developmental surge?

Next we try to bring him back into our world. We get him to do chores with us, to run and play with us; we try many ways to engage him. Nothing works.

He’s so very autistic-looking. His gait, his posture, his eye contact — everything is off. It feels so hopeless.

Late this afternoon we went to our local co-op. While I was getting some potatoes, Joseph started pushing the shopping cart along. He didn’t notice that he was getting in people’s way, banging their carts with ours, squeezing one poor woman against the wall.

I was calling to him in that stressed-out, pissed-off voice of the parent, trying to get his attention, when these arms went around me and hugged me.

I turned around to see an old friend, a fellow yogi. He looked at me with all this light in his eyes and I suddenly felt the dark cloud that was around me. The light coming through him magnified for me what a dark place I was in.

Ugh.

Sometimes we think that there is no limit to Joseph’s future. We envisage him being a professional musician, having a wife and children and friends and lots and lots of happiness.

But this evening it was different. Blue Eyes and I discussed putting Joseph into a home when he turns 18. Maybe some kind of halfway house for disabled adults — something where he could bag groceries during the day and have a place to live at night. We grieved all the time and energy we are putting into him — the difficulty of our lives — when it is going nowhere.

And that, folks, is how we respond to regression. It is hard. So very, very hard.

I’ve never asked this before in my blog but, if you’re inclined to pray, would you be so kind as to pray for Joseph and Blue Eyes and me? We could use a little extra help right now.

Thanks.

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