And then, at age 21, I learned of Asperger’s Syndrome, and for the first time in my life could fit my behaviors and way of experiencing the world into an already established pattern. I fit somewhere. There was a perfectly logical explanation for my difficulties.
I found that paragraph above on Kate Goldfield's blog, Accepting Asperger's Syndrome. Kate shares her journey about discovering why she was so "different" from others around her:
When I was growing up, I constantly felt like I was speaking a different language from everyone around me. I would have such a hard time conveying what seemed to be the simplest of things, and felt like I was constantly being misunderstood. What a relief it is later, then, to find in so much of the literature on Asperger’s those same very words: “People with Asperger’s speak a different kind of language than their peers.”
When I was growing up, I always knew there was something "different" about my best friend's brother. Michael oftened talked to himself, and I had a difficult time having a conversation with him. I always thought it was because he didn't like me and we just didn't click. Michael was fascinated with fish and marine life-- I loved going into his room and looking at the big tank of fish. I had to wait until Michael was out of the house, because most of the time he was in front of the tank, talking to his fish. He had other habits and mannerisms that we just shrugged off as "quirks." He had an incredible love of milk-- and his mom had to stock up on gallons and gallons of milk to satisfy him.
One day, my family and I were eating at a restaurant in the Grand Canyon with two other deaf families. We were watching a group of Indian dancers perform while waiting for our meal. I shared stories about how Pattie, Michael and I used to take Indian dancing classes together. Michael was an incredible Indian dancer and I was describing his dancing to the others. Little did I know, that he was in a hospital, fighting for his life from a sudden infection that he had acquired overnight.
The next day, I learned that Michael had lost his battle for his life.
At the wake, Pattie and I were looking back and laughing at some memories. We chuckled about the time we placed a ladder up the side of the house, ran the garden hose up to the window and sprayed Michael through the open screen as he was taking a shower.
"You know what," said Pattie, "Michael was diagnosed with Asperger's at the age of 40."
We looked at each other-- all of a sudden, things made sense. Those "quirks" were really something that Michael struggled with. Those "quirks" made it harder for him to deal with daily life. When Michael received the diagnosis, he felt a sense of relief. There was a reason why he struggled every day, there was a name for it.
So in honor of Autism Awareness month, I dedicate this post to Michael.
