When I got married at 40 I also became stepmom to a 19 year-old with autism.  By the time we became a family, I had finally started feeling proud of my single self for putting some money into my retirement account each month.  That’s where I was with planning for the future – and I thought it was pretty good, all things considered.  Then I became one of the autism parenting team. 

In the time I’ve been his stepmom, he has graduated from the school he attended and – as with many times before – paved the way for those behind him, this time as one of the first in the fledgling adult day care program.  It’s a wonderful program and he’s contented there. 

Click the picture for a great short video about Surfers Healing.

And we still don’t know what’s next.  I spend more time than I probably should worried about it.  My meager retirement-savings-for-one – even when coupled with my husband’s – are even more meager when expected to last another lifetime for someone who will never work or live on his own.  And that’s just the money.  I also worry about how and where he will live and who will take care of him.

I’ve known for a while now the worry is not good and does no good.  But it’s hard to stop. 

Then we went to the beach for the day.

We had one of those coveted spots at a Surfers Healing camp this summer.  Surfers Healing is a non-profit founded by Izzy and Danielle Paskowitz after discovering the calming effects of surfing on their son who has autism.  A former competitive surfer, Izzy recruits other pro surfers to take children – hundreds at each camp – surfing.  They are expert surfers and amazing people who interact so beautifully with the kids and adults with autism. 

My stepson loves the beach so he didn’t take any convincing to go.  I wasn’t sure what his reaction to surfing would be, though we rehearsed the story with him the whole day before and on the long ride there.  He can swim and they put everyone in life jackets before they get anywhere near the ocean’s edge.  So I wasn’t worried about him.  I was happy we could take the time and make the trip.  I wanted him to have the experience and I thought he’d be the one gaining healing and calm that day.  The only one.

I was wrong.

The surfers walked with him down to the shoreline and demonstrated how to lay stomach-down on the board.  Three of them steadied the surf board and accompanied him out to sea.  As they bobbed their way out, away from us, I was overcome with emotion and tears.  I was not expecting this.  I stood there in the wind, watching these kind surfers take him some place I couldn’t go and yet I knew he was still completely safe.

It was relief I felt.  And it flooded me with tears.  Standing there, I felt the weight of the worry I have been carrying since I came into his life.  I recognized my biggest worry by far is who will take care of him after we are all gone. 

I know it won’t be those surfers we met that day.  But the gift of watching them surround him on the board and go with him into the waves was the gut-level certainty that someone could and would.  It was like a trial run, handing him over to others who can take care of him and handle his quirks and his beauty.  It was the most unexpected gift and relief-drenched glimpse of what can come next.

I didn’t go to the beach for my own healing that day.  I never even got in the water, but I’m ready to go back next year and stand on the shore again.  Rehearse the relief.  Receive the gift of community.  Allow healing.  Look ahead into the choppy waters with hope.