Autism and the “right” way to grieve
Autistics feel just as hard, if not harder, than neurotypicals. Society is just ill-equipped to see “alternative” methods of grieving as valid.
One winter morning in 2006, when I was 15 years old, my mom left the house for her office job like normal. Enduring a persistent and growing headache, she decided instead to take a detour to the hospital for a check-up.
She never returned.
Following the scariest phone call of our lives my older brother and I arrived at the hospital that evening to learn that my mom’s headache turned out to be a glioblastoma, a grade-IV malignant brain tumor that would ultimately break our tiny family apart.
I saw my mom — who was in health a loud, domineering, unstoppable force to all who dared cross her (or just disagree with her, tbh) — reduced to a whisper of a woman within hours. Softer and weaker than I had ever seen her, than I had even thought possible. They told her she had two months to live, though I like to believe she survived for two additional years purely out of spite. (It suits her.)
But according to the current research, I’m not supposed to have feelings about my mother on her deathbed. Scholarly articles and resources for families of autistic…
