You're either really, really lucky or really, really tortured. I am able to post one more little something before the laptop leaves my house for good tonight. I have so much to do today...way too much to allow time for a blog post. However, the three loads of laundry and mess WILL be here tomorrow.

So, really.

This is it.

But...

When I turned on my Mom's computer this morning, it detected a wireless network. Yay! This means that wireless must finally be in my area. So, keep your fingers crossed that my income tax refund is enough for a cheap netbook and a wireless connection. Because I am going to miss this.

And you.

Those of you who are facebook friends with me probably already know how I feel about the Child Development Centre in Kingston and Dr. Garth Smith. The hotel we were staying in had a computer with Internet that Julian and I checked out on Tuesday night while his sister's were swimming. Mostly we looked at pictures of fire extinguishers and mouse traps but he did allow me literally two minutes of facebook time.

The room we stayed in was nicer than my house. A full kitchen, lots of space for the five of you, a huge TV on a swivel and a view to die for.

The hotel was located on the shores of Lake Ontario. There were a few senior's residences next door and all along the shore, there was a nice park that was kept up, even in the dead of winter.

And that's where my memory lives.

Sitting on a cold, wet bench on snowy Tuesday night. The kids upstairs in the suite with Troy, asleep (!) hours after their usual bedtime, the excitement and fullness of the day having taken it's toll on all three of them.

Staring out at the water, snow falling slowly but steadily from the sky, creating a picture worthy of a Christmas card.

Silence.

I sat and watched that snow fall, stared out across the lake, feeling like the last person left on earth.

If I close my eyes, I can still see it.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel it.

Peace.

For the first time in almost four years, I was finally, finally at peace.

Exhaling without realizing how I had been holding my breath.

Closing my eyes for just a moment and actually feeling the weight I had been holding on my shoulders lift. Four years worth of weight, lifted in that one, brief moment.

We did it.

If I close my eyes, I can still see Dr. Smith sitting across from me, a resident doctor next to him, Julian's head in my lap, his hat pulled over his face, his breath hot against my thigh.

I can see Dr. Smith smile at me and say,

"I'm so glad that you came today. I wish I had seen Julian when he was two or three years old."

If I take a deep breath, I can hear him say,

"Fifty percent of parents come in here, kicking and screaming because their family doctor told them they needed to come to me. The other fifty percent are a lot like you. Knowing that something is not quite right with their child and willing to hear what I have to say.

But, only a small handful of parents are of your caliber. I am in awe of you, Janet, and what you have done with Julian. What you have been doing is called "Intensive Behavioural Therapy". You have this remarkable little boy because of you. I want to commend you for all of the work you've done with Julian and thank you for sharing your experience with me. It has truly been a pleasure."

I blushed. Of course, I blushed. I'm not very good at receiving compliments. And I was terrifed of what he was going to say next. And now I have Michael's voice in my head, again...another Hold My Hand refernce...."cuz I've been there before and you've been there before".

I was ready to hear what I have been told for years about my little guy. That he is a riddle. That they've never seen anything like it. That I've done too much. That Julian does not need a formal diagnosis because of how far he's come.

I blushed and I braced myself.

"Julian has Autism, Janet. I have no doubt in my mind."

Exhale.

And tears.

Tears of relief and of gratitude. Crazy, eh? That someone can be so excited to hear that their son is autistic. But after four years of being shuffled around and doubt being implanted every step of the way, the people we trusted turning out to be adversaries, those ten little words erased the struggles of the years preceding us.

From there, Dr. Smith began to pick apart the reports from CHEO. He showed me the red flags that were ignored in Julian's infancy. I learned that preemies have a fifty percent higher chance of having Autism. I learned that what they told me might be Cerebral Palsy was actually early signs of Autism and another condition that Julian will be tested for at another time.

He said what I had been saying for years.

"People have been looking for one answer for Julian. They haven't allowed for there to be multiple reasons for Julian's struggles."

Four years, countless doctors (one of whom I could sue... but that's another story for another day), numerous workers and therapists and a four hour trip later and we have our answers.

That peace that I felt sitting on that bench looking out at that water with the snow falling down around me has settled into my heart.

And yes, I have cried.

But not because I got a pat on the back. I didn't need one.

No, the tears roll for two reasons.

First of all, because Dr. Smith acknowledged all of the work that JULIAN has done. He listened to what my son has been trying to tell us for years. He listened and he watched and he gave Julian the pat on the back that he deserved.

And second, because I did it.

I kept my promise to Julian.

I got him there. I didn't give up. I didn't stop. Even when the roadblocks were a mile high and a mile long, I got him through the cracks. I didn't stop listening. I didn't stop fighting. I became that warrior. Even when I didn't think I had it in me, I found her.

And when I told him, "if you just hold my hand, baby, I promise that I'll do all I can. Things will go better, if you just hold my hand, nothing can come between if you just hold my hand"...

I meant it.

We got there.

And back.

And now, the possibilities are endless.

Not just for me.

But for Julian.

And for that, there aren't enough words of thanks for the Child Development Centre and Dr. Garth Smith. I will live the rest of my life indebted to him.

Peace.

Joy.

Love.