When I first heard Andrew's diagnosis as being 'autistic,' I was more elated than sad.  The labeling was better than 'psychotic.'  After I left the neurologist's office with Andrew, we stopped at a small cafe that served hotdogs near our home.  I remember sitting on a stool trying to relax, while Andrew went around and around in his seat.  I knew I should stop him, but whenever we went to a new place, Andrew needed time to adjust.  Besides, I was having a personal, serious issue of my own. 

As I sat on the stool, I glanced down at the floor.  The tan flooring turned dark and began to rise up...as if it were going to swallow me.  It was the worse feeling I had ever experienced. I could hardly breathe!  I felt so helpless!  I did not like feeling this way. 

I knew I needed to get a grip.  After all, Andrew was right next to me.  What would happen to him if I just let this darkness sweep over me?  I prayed.

 Suddenly, the room lit up. Well, at least for me it did.  The darkness had vanished.  I was in control and so grateful.