It’s always enlightening to get reactions from people who don’t see our Little Rankster on a frequent basis. Those people aren’t privy to the daily struggle of raising an autistic youngster and the efforts to reverse the negative aspects of our son’s ASD. So they don’t see the small daily changes. But boy can they see the big changes that occur over the course of a year; and they did see them.
Then there’s the other side of that coin. Although we do our best to maintain protocols, trips like this mean some degree of interruption in the voo-doo we do-do. Add to that the inevitable gluten infraction, and . . . well, let’s just say we got a good lesson in the value of the biomedical track we’re on.
“Home” can be a nebulous concept. It doesn’t necessarily mean the place you came from. It may not even be a place. This latest trip back to New Orleans reaffirmed for us that no matter how much we love that city ⎯ and no matter how deeply rooted in our souls the city and its culture will always be ⎯ it is not our home anymore.
But even the city we now live in is not “home.” Our home is wherever we are doing the best for our family. Home is where we’ll be on the day when we’ll know that we have done all we can to give our son the best possible opportunity to make the most of his life.
We’re going home.