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Health & Fitness

Ode to Greg

While most parents mark their children's adulthood by sending their kids off to college, Greg's parents mark his by sending him to live in his first group home.

 

Twenty years ago, when Greg's mother was pregnant with him, all his parents wanted, like all parents want, was a healthy baby.  And for a time after he was born, that's exactly what they thought they had.

Greg's parents were so excited to have a little boy.  His dad, especially, dreamed of a time when he would be the little league coach, how he would watch his son play sports all year long, and taking him to Mets games and Rutgers football games.

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But by the time Greg was two, he was not talking. He was scared of everything. He wouldn't make much eye contact.  Just before his second birthday, he was diagnosed with autism.

For the last eighteen years, Greg's parents have done everything they can for him.  They searched out the best schools, the best camp programs, they've taken him to the best doctors...they tried everything to get him to communicate, but he can't.  He can't talk.  He can't use sign language.  He has never said Mom or Dad or I love you.  Greg gets upset easily.  He cries. He grits his teeth.  He has so much he wants to say and do, I bet, and no way to say or do anything.

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Greg can't take care of himself.  He needs healthy adults to help guide him through each of his days. Though he can't communicate verbally, everyone knows how sweet Greg is. Whether he is grabbing food off of your plate in his excitement to share with you or coming up to you and touching your face, whether he tries to look at you to say hello and goodbye, whether he is swimming at the Willows or roller skating at the Kendall Park roller rink, Greg comes across as a kind, loving boy. 

A few years ago, besides autism, Greg became an adolescent. The seizure disorder that had been plaguing Greg worsened. His hormones combined with the inability to communicate made it nearly impossible to care for him at home. His parents got even less sleep than usual. (Greg has trouble sleeping and typically comes into his parents' room in the middle of the night for comfort.)  There were many days and nights that they didn't know what they would do. How they would go on.

When he turned eighteen, Greg's parents made the difficult decision that it was time to start the process towards getting Greg into a group home. They applied for an emergency placement.  Now, two years later, that "emergency placement" is turning into reality.  Later this week, Greg will move into a group home with a few other autistic young men, all being cared for by a house manager and counselors.  They will be the ones getting Greg off to his day program. They are the ones who will help him with dinner and showering and take him roller skating.

It's the most bittersweet time I can remember in the twenty years I have been privileged to know Greg.  His parents know that at twenty, Greg shouldn't be living at home.  Greg's parents are young now, his mom in her late forties and his dad just turned fifty, but they will grow older, and they will not be able to take care of Greg forever.  They know that.

Still, no one knows Greg like his mom and dad and they are putting faith in other people to care for their special son.  As they move towards this new normal in their lives, I am hoping Greg's new caregivers appreciate him as much as so many people around him do.

 

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