elopementLike a lot of people, I have my email come to my phone.

Yesterday morning, I checked it while I was getting up and discovered two that stopped me in my routine.

The first one was that a 12-year-old autistic boy was missing.

The second one was that the 12-year-old autistic boy was found “in the water.” (At the time I’m posting this, he was taken care of in the hospital because he was suffering from hypothermia. A sergeant saw his wet clothes and dry shoes at the shore, spotted him, and then went in to rescue him.)

But I didn’t know that he was still alive when I saw that headline.

I thought he, like so many other autistic kids who elope, was found dead in the water.

Dead.

And I felt sick.

Sick like someone had punched me in the stomach. Sick like I couldn’t breathe in and out anymore. Sick like I had to sit down for a minute with my head down.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t my kid. It was a kid. It could have been my kid.

Last week, we had an incident at school.

There is some he said/she said going on, but I have faith in the version of the story I heard from the bus aide and the bus driver:

While were loading up a kid with a wheelchair onto the bus, the aide noticed Simon.standing alone. No one was near him. No one was watching him. No one seemed to notice him.

According to the aide (and the bus driver), he seemed confused and had begun wandering from the bus area towards the car rider line.

Not cool.

So not cool.

So not cool it’s dangerous.

They did spot him, and they did get him and put him on the bus.

Nothing bad happened.

But all it would have taken was a one or more people not paying attention, and Simon could have been in the ocean (metaphorically since we’re quite far from the ocean).

Wandering down the road isn’t much better. It’s a busy road, and if he had gone in one direction, he’d wind up near some woods. If he’d gone in the other direction, he’d be heading towards the main highway that goes from Galveston to Dallas and beyond.

Neither of those options are much better than the ocean. Neither of those options are safe. Neither of those options make my stomach feel good.

How does this end?

It doesn’t.

Simon’s teacher is instituting a few new policies to try to make sure it never happens again. But we’re human. It most likely will happen again, even if it’s not on her watch.

This is life with an autistic child.

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