Gray

A Journey of Love, Discovery, and Growth

Being Gray’s mom is nothing short of blissful. He is my first baby, my whole world, and to me, he is perfect. From the very beginning, even through the sleepless nights and the learning curve of being a brand-new mom (who, by the way, had never even changed a diaper before Gray!), I embraced every moment. What I didn’t expect, however, was the journey we would take together—the one that would teach me more about love, patience, and acceptance than I ever thought possible.

When Gray was little, family members began to ask questions. “Why isn’t he talking yet?” they wondered. As a first-time mom, I honestly didn’t know when a child was “supposed” to start talking, walking, or hit other milestones. I assumed everything would happen in its own time. And for a while, I thought it had… when his little sister was born, Gray suddenly began talking more. To me, that felt like the solution. I brushed aside my worries and let myself believe everything had worked itself out.

But deep down, I always knew Gray was special. He saved me in ways I can never fully explain—when I felt alone, he was there, holding my hand as he drifted off to sleep, wiping my tears with his tiny fingers, making life brighter simply by being himself. For so long, it was just Gray and me, against the world. He healed parts of me I didn’t even know were broken.

As Gray grew, I started noticing little things: the way he lined up toys in perfect rows, his strong dislikes for certain textures, the tears over haircuts, his fear of loud noises, or the way he repeated lines from movies with such perfect timing it amazed me. To me, it wasn’t “odd”, it was just Gray. He was my first child, my normal.

Then came his yearly doctor visits. Questions were asked. Evaluations were suggested. At first, I wanted to get defensive, but I knew my job as a mother was to advocate for him, not dismiss him. Some family members didn’t understand, insisting nothing was “wrong” with Gray. But I never thought there was anything wrong either—just that he might need a little extra help. And that was okay.

The first evaluation didn’t lead to a diagnosis. We were instructed to return if we had any further concerns. By then, though, I had started to see what his doctor saw. His fixations grew stronger, his piles of toys grew larger, and his patterns and routines became part of his world. Eventually, at four years old, Gray received a diagnosis: mild to moderate autism spectrum disorder.

Was I scared? Yes. Was I relieved? Absolutely. Because finally, we had answers—not to change who Gray was, but to better understand him. His therapist assured me that this diagnosis did not change Gray’s future. It would only give us tools to help him thrive. And thrive he has.

Gray went on to preschool, then kindergarten, and now he is in 1st grade, enjoying a new school with an IEP and wonderful supports in place. He goes to private occupational therapy weekly, and with every passing year, his struggles become fewer, his confidence grows stronger, and his light shines even brighter. He has made incredible progress: learning to communicate his feelings, building friendships, controlling emotions, and even discovering new passions like horror characters, Minecraft, Legos, and action figures. He builds with imagination and creativity that continues to amaze me.

Of course, there are still challenges: social cues can be tricky, eating remains a work in progress, and therapy is an ongoing part of our lives. But when I look at Gray, I don’t see challenges. I see resilience. I see a boy who has taught me more about patience, unconditional love, and acceptance than I ever thought possible.

Gray has the kindest heart. He is sweet as sugar, gentle, loving, and cuddly with those he trusts. He has given me purpose as a mom, strength to advocate fiercely, and joy that makes even the hardest days worth it.

And the truth is this, I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. I wouldn’t change his autism, his quirks, his freckles, or his brown eyes. I wouldn’t change his sister’s spunky personality or his brother’s Down syndrome. Because if I changed even the smallest detail, they wouldn’t be mine. And God made them perfectly for me.

Gray is my everything. He is thriving, adapting, and teaching the world, just by being himself, that different is not less. Different is beautiful.

Gray’s story is one of hope, resilience, and unconditional love. To other parents just starting their journey: you are not alone, and your child is perfect exactly as they are.

-Destiney, Mom