Part Thirty-Seven: Taking My Act On the Road

“Not even in death would he cease and desist his incessant diatribe!”

Photo by Matt Botsford on Unsplash

I was replying to an email from a reader this morning when I got off on a tangent about how I’ve spent my entire life, since Mr. Happy’s ASD/IDD diagnosis at age 12 or 13, trying to figure out how I can die in peace. For a kid like mine, nothing can be left to chance when I go to my eternal rest because otherwise there will be no eternal rest. I’ll just be worrying and stressing from out there in the ether just like I’ve done for the past 50 odd years on earth and dammit, I deserve to lay in that pine box with my feet up, a bottle of wine, and a book. 

Must remember a corkscrew and a glass. 

Screw the glass. The bottle is fine. But I might want to make that two bottles. 

In any case, as I went on and on about what I need to do in order to die, it crossed my mind that the topic would make a really funny stand up act. And now you know it’s past time for me to get my ass home to Rob. 

But seriously. It could be hysterical. And you can’t deny there’s a market for it. At this point, one in seven (I think) kids are diagnosed with ASD and there are thousands more who aren’t diagnosed until they’re adults. That means there are millions of parents, like me, who spend far too many of their waking hours wondering things like, How the fuck am I ever going to die? Is murder-suicide an option? How do I get my proverbial ducks in a row so I can GO? 

Here are my responses to those questions: 

How the fuck am I ever going to die? My death will be caused by petrification brought on from listening to Mr. Happy talk for hours upon hours. By the time he or anyone else discovers I’ve made my departure, they’ll have to use a crowbar to pry me from the chair. And then he’ll be pissed I wasn’t listening to him the entire time.  

Is murder-suicide an option? Only if you promise to bury me miles and miles away from my kid. I fully suspect his oral diarrhea will continue post mortem, so adequate distance (and that wine)  is my utmost desire. “Not even in death would he cease and desist his incessant diatribe!” 

How do I get my ducks in a row so I can go? Planning. Lots and lots of planning. And money. Lots and lots of money. 

Is it any wonder I want to get rich this year? Time’s running out! I’ve got to figure out how to bankroll Mr. Happy before the petrification process starts. 

I realize I have demented sense of humor, but I think I’d be packing houses from coast to coast with this act. 

I’ll simply share what my life has been like. 

How my girlfriends go shopping on the weekends while I spend mine researching burial plots. Sounds boring until I announce I’ve found the perfect pair. 

One in Pennsylvania and one in Peru. 

I’ve always wanted to go to Peru!

How my every waking moment is spent wondering who I can saddle Mr. Happy with. Mr. Rugby? One of my brothers? My cousin Lisa? These are people I love! I can’t enjoy sipping my Pinot noir in my pine box if I’m worrying they’re seconds away from their own petrification process or worse – exhuming me so they can prop me up and make me listen to him. Again. 

Remember family, abusing a dead body is a crime.

But I really think I’m onto something here. 

I could rant about the year I spent trying to have a special community built for my son and those like him only to have him tell me to go to hell. That would get some laughs. 

Or I could talk about the thousands of Google searches Rob and I have done and phone calls we’ve made in an effort to find an existing community for him to live in only to be told that if he can’t live at the one in Jacksonville, Florida – with its major proximity to the Jacksonville Jaguars and Trevor Lawrence who might not even play for the damn team by the time my kid gets down there – he’s not going. Oh hell no. You can’t make me! 

Parents of forever children are met with a lot of demands and tantrums by these kids we lose sleep over but, isn’t that the case with all parents, even those with neurotypical kids? It is! See? The audience for my completely relatable routine is growing by the moment! Though I do admit that the bits about building a community and finding one aren’t funny. 

Yet. 

Give me time. 

I’m going to perfect my routine and take it on the road, play to packed houses across the country and maybe the world – hey, they have autism in other countries too! I’m going to be Big. Really Big. Undeniably Big. The voice of a whole new generation of parents desperate to be able to go to their Heavenly reward without worry. I might even be known as the “All She Wants to Do is Die (in Peace)” comic. How cool would that be?

I’m going to do it, I tell you. I really am. 

That, or die trying. 

Oh dear, that won’t work now will it?

Hmm. I’ll get back to you. 

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Thank you for taking this long, strange trip with me. I appreciate you and your many comments and emails. And flowers! Thank you to my sisters-in-law Kathy, Kelly, and Connie for the gorgeous roses. I love you.

If you’d like to read parts 1-36, you can do so here.

If you’d like to check out my newest book, BOUNCE: A Memoir of Resilience, you can read the first two chapters here.