If I Could Grant Three Wishes for My Autistic Child

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When I we were expecting Baby No. 2 and I found out that she was a girl, I was so excited. I already had a son and a stepson, so I was well outnumbered. I dreamed that my daughter would become my best friend. I pictured us doing mommy-daughter things together: shopping, pampering, afternoon tea, girly days out and heart-to-hearts about friends, boyfriends and life. I dreamed of a wedding, grandchildren…

And then we learned she is autistic, and all those hopes and dreams felt as though they were slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers.

Suddenly, the future for our daughter was unclear, blurry, foggy. Dark. We had no idea what she would and wouldn’t be capable of, and what life would have in store for her.

I was blinded by the diagnosis. What I had failed to realise, in those very early days, was that I could still have hopes and dreams for her, and for us, but they would just be different than the wishes I had before. These are my wishes.

Wish #1: I wish for her to be educated in a way that means she can get the most out of her school days. I no longer dream of her going to university or having a great career (although either could definitely still happen!). I don’t mind so much about academics, although I would love for her to read and write (even if that means “writing” with an iPad instead of a pen).

I really want her to learn the things that mainstream schools do not focus on as much. I want her to learn social skills—she needs to be taught, rather than just picking skills up through interaction and experience. I want her to learn about the world—not geography, but her world—and how to live in it. I want her to learn independence so that, one day, she might be capable of living away from us.

Wish #2: I wish that she has friends and leads a happy life. She is already popular at Nursery, with other children keen to talk and play with her, but she isn’t yet able to respond to their interest. I hope that, in time, she will be able to form meaningful friendships with people who “get” her. Maybe she’ll even find love.

As long as she’s happy, I’ll be happy. I don’t want her life to be a struggle, and I hope that we can arm her with the ability and vocabulary to express to us if it does become difficult, so that we can help.

Wish #3: I wish for her to be accepted. Society, while making great strides in recognising the needs of autistic people, still has a long, long way to go until being autistic is no big differentiator. I hope that by the time my daughter is an adult, being autistic isn’t even a “thing”—it’s just another way of being.

I hope that the accommodations some businesses and places make now are commonplace all over and that everyone working in a public-facing role has at least basic-level autism awareness training. I would hope that this knowledge and understanding would spread so that everyone knows more about autism, and our autistic loved ones are treated with the kindness, respect and care that they deserve.

I don’t think these wishes are unrealistic or unachievable. And, who knows? She may end up married and with a family and a fantastic career of her own one day. But, whatever happens, I do know that she will be my best friend and I will do everything in my power to make sure she’s happy.

Instead of the blurry, dark future I feared when she was first diagnosed, I have come to realise that she is the light, and her future is bright.

Kelly Kemp

Founder at It's a Tink Thing
Kelly Kemp is a stay-at-home mother of two and a full-time carer for her daughter, Tink, who is almost 5. She began blogging about their autism journey the day after Tink was diagnosed at the age of 3 as a way of getting her thoughts and emotions out in the open.

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