EARLY DAYS - 21 03 13

In August 2005, when Axel was 3, I steeled myself, armed with information to prove to the assessors at the Seaside View Hospital that our son had Autism. I wanted to win a diagnosis of Autism for my son so that I could apply for a statement of Special Educational Needs and access the vital therapy he needed. I avidly offered my evidence. Questions asked, notes taken and we were asked to leave, to go outside for a while. We stood outside in a children's playground barely breathing. We returned to the room and I spied that on the back of her sheet Axel had ticked three boxes out of three and I offered, 'Oh Axel’s done really well' and she replied, 'Oh he's done really well and turned the sheet over to show me that he'd ticked 11 out of the 12 boxes to assess for Autism. The first of many top marks in severity. I wanted to succeed but only just. Enough to get help.

As we left that day in summer, I vividly saw in my mind’s eye, a sepia-toned photograph. In it were an aged husband and I at the top with our two children Anusha and Axel sat with their respective husband and wife below. Below them were their children. The image was shockingly clear. I was surprised at its formality. I was saddened by it's poverty. In my imagination I had space for either of them to be gay. In my imagination I had space for a third child but none of that was there, just a traditional family scene. As we walked away from the hospital that summers day, Axel's wife and children were torn away. I was startled by the image. In my head, Axel would be no more than a quirky, adorable soul who would still achieve all I hoped life would afford him. With love, work and skills we would help him to be so.

Clearly my soul knew differently. Even so my soul did not sense how an irreparable tear would appear between my husband and I. No therapeutic tape could repair it. I want profound support to be immediately offered with a diagnosis. We were left to go home with a list and work out what to do next. Fellow mothers were my source of knowledge and support but what if you're not extrovert like me? We also have Amaze, an exceptional charity that supports parents like me. But what to do with the grief? The differences in the way my husband and I responded drove a silent angry chasm between us.

What would you have liked to support you? What do you want for people?