We have decided to adopt a dog, a Boxer to be exact. So we are going through a Boxer rescue center, hoping to find the perfect match. There is a beautiful dog out there who needs a family, proper training, firm boundaries, and lots of love, and we believe our home is ready for one more wiggly member.
All of us are very excited. The anticipation sometimes makes the kids giddy. Steve and I remember fondly the nights when our last Boxer, Abby, would sleep between us on our bed with her head on a pillow. She would sigh deeply in her sleep, then suddenly blow Boxer snot all over us. Man, those were good times.
The search for the perfect dog is not unlike searching for a mate. Personalities must click, shared interests are important, even food preferences should be considered. After all, this new member of the family will be cleaning up our leftovers and stealing snacks from us when our heads are turned. He/she will be forced to listen to our music in the car - of late, the soundtrack to Madagascar and songs from Playhouse Disney are the preferred choices. These considerations must not be taken lightly, because they are for a lifetime, or about 8 human years.
A couple of years ago, as I emailed one of my roommates from college about our family situation, I was filled with self-pity, uncertainty, anguish, guilt, and a lot of anger. We were adjusting to the knowledge that our son had autism, and I was not handling it as well as I thought I should be. I was ticked at my husband for working so much and not being there to help me 24/7 (yes, I admit that Ian gets some of his irrational behavior from me). Even more, I was furious that I was unable to pick myself up and fix it. Just like that. Only a terrible parent would be so inept.
Although Sherri and I had not seen each other in years, she always has a nice way of helping me see things more clearly when what I really need is a kick in the rear. She replied to my pity-party by suggesting that perhaps God had chosen us to be Ian's parents because we were the only people capable of helping Ian reach his full potential.
Honestly, that thought had never occurred to me. But it sure was something to consider. Whether I wanted to accept a spiritual explanation or something more concrete didn't really matter. The fact remained that Ian was born to us, no one else. All of his wonderful qualities and his challenges were ours to help mold into a great human being. We could face it and help him succeed; or, we could ignore it and watch him crumble. THAT choice was ours. Our instincts would be our best ally.
I cried most of the day after I read Sherri's email. Her words gave me so much relief. They put me back in the driver's seat in a situation that made me feel like I had been wrapped in duct tape and shoved in the trunk. I was able to put my own feelings of inadequacy to rest and help this child who needed a strong and loving mother.
Would I have chosen Ian to be my child if I had known about his condition? Absolutely. I have been so deeply in love with him from the first second I saw him, touched his face to my cheek, felt his sleepy breath on my neck. I knew instinctively then that it was meant to be; nothing can change that.
I am told that furry pets can work wonders on the temperament of an autistic child. I hope when Ian snuggles with our new dog for the first time, he has the same feeling I do about him, that he sees the potential, senses the commitment, and understands the value of loving. There will always be imperfections in our personalities and our relationships, but what really matters is the connection we feel to those we call family.
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