The heart of a community, a nation, and especially a family is breaking this night.
Nearly four months ago, on October 4th, a young teenage boy wandered off from his school in Long Island City, NY. His remains were identified today near the East River.
When this young man, whose name is Avonte, went missing, a city wide search took place. Social media seemed to explode, pages and groups and anything else to keep the flame of hope burning and to somehow bring him home to his family. We in the autistic community, along with the parents of this precious young man, were living every parent's worst nightmare.
As I read the news update on my break at work, I closed my eyes and felt an old familiar aching in the pit of my stomach. I remember thinking back to when my Matthew was about the same age as Avonte, 14. At that time we were living in a 16X80 trailer in a neighborhood trailer park and we had family that lived two rows over from where we are. The kids would take turns spending the night there and I remember a few such occasions that could very well have ended in disaster. In every one, Matthew was involved.
What do you say when your son comes back home in the early to mid-morning hours while the adults of the house are still asleep? What do you say when your son comes home covered in pitch and tar because he was playing in the newly patched roads near the park? What do you say when your son is no where to be found and, after circling the neighborhood more times than you have fingers and toes to count with, going from door to door and not being able to reach anyone, you come back to find him sitting on the front steps?
Avonte was non-verbal and up until seven years ago, so was Matthew. He would not have been able to call for help, to call for me, for his dad, or for his older brother. He would not have been able to alert anyone of our phone number or address with the hopes of us being notified. My blood ran cold at that thought then. It's even colder as I write.
My heart is breaking as I think about this family weeping for their child. When you lose a child, there is very little (if any) consolation. A piece of you is forever gone and no matter what is done, regardless of how much time has passed, that piece can never be gotten back. Even the word closure is like salt in the wound.
Too many families, in and out of the autistic community, have lost their children in such a fashion. In some instances, there have been happy endings. Sadly, others are left with grief and memories as they lay their precious children to rest.
I pray tonight for Avonte's family, that they will be wrapped in comfort and love. I pray for peace. I pray that no other family will ever know this kind of pain!
Sleep now, little soldier. Your journey is now done.
Sleep now, sweet angel boy. A valiant race you have run.
