*A throwback memory from 2015 For Autism Awareness Day 2020.
As I write this, I know we are either lost or trespassing. Two hours ago, we were riding on a ‘hop-on, hop-off ‘ train around Albufeira until our company, all ladies, suggested we ‘hop’ off and walk. They walked into the first shop. Mowgli doesn't do shops. He pulled me away from the pack and lead out of the shop and across the road over a dried up patch of wasteland leading to a dusty man-made track to God knows where. That's the thing with Mowgli. I never know where I will end up, but like life, when I go with the flow it often turns out to be one big adventure. Mowgli trailed me down a steep slope, past the back of private condos, onto the top of a cliff face. We threaded gingerly over honeycomb rock that looked like it could crumble at any moment into the aqua green water far below. I was wondering if we would ever find our way back when we rounded a corner and a café, framed in glass, appeared before us. It was jutting out over a small secluded sun-drenched cove. Mowgli abandoned his flip-flops and ran downward past the pretty sunbathing area towards the ocean, squealing louder than a bunch of seagulls. Faces appeared from behind newspapers and floppy sun hats. Under my shades, it became evident that Mowgli had gatecrashed a private beach club. I considered the worst-case scenario. Pitching my bag of towels, sun cream, and packed sandwiches, I settled myself on the edge of a deluxe cream cushioned lounger and waited until we were asked to leave. I had just completed the first sentence of this column when a face appeared in front of mine. Here we go, I thought. I reached for my bulging beach bag and was about to tell the man wearing a pair of expensive leather sandals, lemon shorts and cream polo shirt that we were just leaving but he spoke first. "Hello… the young man with you… is it autism?" I relax my hand on the handles of my bag. Mowgli was doing his 'autistic thing' as he ran in and out of the surf. "Yes, my son has autism." "Ah... my daughter... her young boy was just diagnosed… he is only three…" His voice trailed but not before I heard it crack. The man gestured if he could sit. I pulled my bag closer to me and nodded. He sat down with a sigh and told me all the things his grandson could and couldn't do. A waiter arrived and offered us drinks. I was about to protest when the man lifted two glasses and set one down in front of me. "You must know this journey well," he said in a way that reminded me of my anxiety of the unknown when I first received Cian’s diagnosis. He wanted reassurance, a guarantee that all would turn out well for his grandson. I reached for my glass and took a long drink before I answered him. "It's a different journey. It helps if you go with the flow and enjoy you grandson just as he is because every day is a new day and none of us really know where any of us are going to end up? A slow smile formed on the man’s face and he clinked my glass. "That's great advice. Thank you. I was meant to hear that today." We both turned back to Mowgli, playing happily in the water. I took another sip and wondered when it would be a good time to admit I hadn't a clue where I was and to ask the man for directions back to our apartment.
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