Dr. Wakefield quickly told us that we needed to get him on a plane as soon as we could, to get him to a gastroenterologist in New York. This doctor had been helping children with autism and bowel issues just like Dawson. It was soon confirmed that Dawson had ulcerative colitis, and he was put on medications and a very restrictive diet. Thankfully, the pain that Dawson had been living with for two years got markedly better, but would continue to be an issue for him to this day.
Even though he seemed to feel a little better, my dream of curing Dawson was slowly fading away. He was not making the progress I had read about other children making, and he still could not speak at all, despite all the speech therapy we were doing. His speech therapist eventually diagnosed him with apraxia and kindly told us to be prepared that he may never speak. Everything that doctor told us a few years earlier was slowly and painfully becoming a reality. It made me feel so defeated to think that we may never be the success story I had once dreamed of.
I was feeling nothing like my old self and was cranky and irritable at home. I felt like I was always snapping at the girls, and I am sure I was not the nicest wife, either. While I knew it was not true deep in my heart, it seemed like Greg only cared about Longhorn baseball and was voluntarily gone all the time. I was starting to resent the fact that he was gone while there was so much to deal with at home. Looking back, I realize that he probably wanted to run away from our situation as much as I did; like so many other moms do, I tried to keep it all together despite everything.
A month or so after moving to Austin, I met Stacy while I was on a walk with Dawson. At the time, we were living in a cramped apartment while our house was being built, so I tried to get out as often as possible. Dawson loved going for walks in his stroller; this seemed to be the only time he was actually still. I loved those walks as well and took advantage of them as often as I could. I had a plastic cup filled with wine in the cup holder of the stroller and walked the apartment parking lot in circles like a track, killing time before dinner. As I walked, a pretty girl with long brown hair, slender build and a bag full of groceries came up to us.
“When did you guys move in?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“We bought a house in Silver Oaks, and it’s still in the building process. We just moved here from Arizona, and I’m feeling a little stir-crazy with four kids in a small apartment!” I responded, happy to be talking to a grown-up.
I instantly liked her and knew I had made my first Austin friend. She soon introduced me to her circle, and in no time, our little group was inseparable. We were the proverbial Ladies Who Lunch, and we pretty much did everything together. It became a bond that felt more like a sisterhood than friendship, and there was rarely a day that went by when we didn’t see each other. We were in our prime, financially secure and had kids around the same age. Greg and I seemed to be communicating much better, and I felt like we were a team again. Things were finally starting to look up.
Hayley, Brenna and Sophia were incredibly helpful, as always. They were understanding about all the attention Dawson needed and how that impacted us as a family. We rarely let them have sleepovers once we moved into our house. We never knew if Dawson would be up all night; and frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with any more children in the house. Hayley was having a bit of a hard time, she missed Arizona tremendously. I completely understood her feelings. I remembered feeling the same thing, being in the same position, at the same age.
So what did we do? In 2006, we moved back to Arizona, just one year after we left. We decided that the services in Arizona were much better for Dawson. At first, Hayley was relieved at the idea of going back. But by the time we sold our home and it came time to leave, Hayley had fallen in love with Austin. She also had a new boyfriend which may have played a part, but it was too late to turn back, and we set off for the desert once again.
That year is extremely fuzzy. I just remember always feeling tired, out of sorts and never quite settled like I’d hoped I would. It may have been because we never seemed to really be settled, but to me, it was more than that. I remember days of profound sadness that would come upon me, triggered when driving by a Little League field, seeing little boys running and laughing, knowing that would never be my son; or after seeing a happy family at a restaurant without a care in the world. Going out to dinner was nearly impossible with Dawson. I found myself dwelling on the future and what that was, or was not, going to look like for us.
Once again, Greg and I were drifting farther and farther apart. We were back to not communicating, and quite simply, I felt totally alone in a home full of people. I wrote in my journal almost every night. I wish I still had that journal, because now everything is so unclear to me as to what exactly was going on during that time. I do distinctly remember crying a lot more than I should have been. I know that I am a pretty good crier anyway, but this felt different. Maybe it was real depression, who knows. I don’t know why I never talked to a professional about it, but I should have; it might have changed everything.
So what did I do to make myself feel better? I found us a new house, because that clearly kept solving all my problems! Unfortunately, shortly after moving into that house, Greg and I separated.
CHAPTER 12
THAT FIRST SEPARATION DIDN’T LAST very long and maybe doesn’t even count as a real separation. I call it that because a bag was packed and Greg left for a few days. That bag would lovingly become known as the bye-bye bag since it was the one he always used when he would leave.
Sadly, we would end up separating a few more times during the next few years, and I can’t even really remember why. There were never loud arguments or name-calling. It would just happen, and I honestly can’t recall how it was decided that it would be better if Greg just left.
Looking back, there is no way the kids were not affected, but I don’t even remember them saying anything or asking any questions. Each separation would last longer and longer, but would never last more than a couple of months. The crazy part was, we would still get together during the separations and have sex, quite regularly.
I would anxiously wait for the door chime to sound very late at night, alerting me that Greg was there. I would hear him pad down the hallway to our bedroom as my heart pounded with anticipation, and he would quietly crawl into bed with me. It just seemed like the natural and normal thing to do. It was an example of the undeniable chemistry we always had, even during the worst of times.
Right before that first mini separation, Greg was definitely going through something that he wasn’t sharing with me. He would sit in his small TV room for most of the day. I remember feeling as if he just didn’t want to be around any of us. I would peek in the room and he just would be entranced with the TV or his computer, content that we were all going about our lives without him. He just looked sad all the time.
For Dawson’s fifth birthday, I planned a small birthday party in our neighborhood. Just a few parents and their kids came to hang out in our front yard. Greg never even came outside, not for any of it. I was already in a funk because Dawson had no clue it was his birthday. He had no desire to open gifts and couldn’t even grasp the concept of blowing out candles. That day was just another reminder of all the milestones he was missing and how little progress we had made, despite all that we were doing. It hurt more than I could ever express at the time, to love your child so much and watch him struggle with the smallest of things—especially things that should bring joy to his life and never did. I needed Greg to share this hurt with me. Once again, I felt alone in my world of sadness and grief.
As I painted on my usually sunny smile, chatted with neighbors and watched the kids play the little games I had arranged, Dawson sat by himself, mesmerized by the repetitive action of throwing small rocks at the house over and over again. It wasn’t until he had a tantrum that I went inside, and with a tone I am sure was not remotely nice, I asked Greg to come outside to help me, and he did. But I distinctly remember looking at the man I loved so much an
d for so long, thinking something’s wrong; he doesn’t look right. It’s like he wanted to be anywhere other than with his family. As I think back to that day, was I thinking the same thing? The only difference was that I could fake it a little better than he could. Now I realize we were both officially dealing with some form of depression.
That year back in Arizona was a rough one. Being back in the place where everything had been so magical did not help one bit, it actually made things worse. We were not in baseball anymore, so we didn’t have the friendships that were so readily available every night or on weekends at the ballpark. Much of the 2001 World Series team had all either retired or were playing on other teams in other states. I was lonely for some girl-time and missed my Austin friends tremendously. I leaned on Dawson’s therapists who continued to work with him six days a week. Sometimes they were the only adult conversation I would have. I wonder now if they noticed all that was going on in our house or felt the tension brewing. I grew to love those kind young ladies and always looked forward to seeing their happy, carefree faces at my front door.
I looked forward to the times when they would come over to work with Dawson, as it meant I could step away for just a moment to have some free time. I loved when the session would end and we would sit to discuss Dawson’s progress, always celebrating with a glass of wine after any tiny breakthrough. These girls were not only a gift to Dawson, but a gift to me in so many ways. Maria was back with us as well and still a huge part of our family. She literally kept our lives in order. The house always looked as if the perfect family lived inside, even if in reality it was a complete disaster. All the kids loved her, and I know she helped give our lives the much-needed stability we were starving for. I have never met a finer person, happily willing give so much of herself to our family.
This is where I need to admit that my own destructive and careless behavior began to surface. I felt lonely, was sad about my marriage being a mess, had an autistic child and three young girls who needed my attention. However! There is no excuse for how I started behaving. I started seeking attention from someone else. I desperately wanted something to take away all the junk that was floating around in my head. I was reverting back to my old high school self: When things got rough, surely the attention of a man could fix it. Not a mani/pedi, a shopping spree, a long walk, or a glass of wine could fix my troubled head. But a man telling me I was beautiful and amazing could. One day out of the blue I contacted Kyle, knowing I would hear what I needed, like an addict needing just one little hit.
“SAARRRAHHHH!” he excitedly shouted on the phone when I called him. “How did you know I was just thinking about you?”
Kyle and I were very close in high school, and he was my first real crush when I moved to Farmington. We became best friends in high school, and I always thought if I hadn’t met Greg, we would have ended up together. He was good-looking, with a magnetic energy that made you just want to be around him, and a smile that lit up a room. We had stayed in touch here and there since high school, but it had been years since we had talked.
After a few long conversations on the phone with Kyle, I felt alive again. Kyle understood me and would listen when I talked about my thoughts and fears. I liked that we talked about what was going on in his life too. He would tell me how amazing I was and would make me laugh with all his long, animated stories.
I told myself that I was simply enjoying stimulating conversation with an old friend, and nothing was wrong with it. It also made me realize just how much Greg and I were not communicating after talking with Kyle, and I missed that. I wanted things to get back to how they were so badly. It was wrong to feel so happy talking to another man, and I knew it. But at that moment, Kyle was filling a void, and it felt good.
There was a very clear moment when I realized that Greg and I were in big trouble. Greg had just flown in to Phoenix from Austin from his volunteer coaching job with UT. I was completely exhausted physically and mentally, so I decided to take a hot bath after the kids went to bed. A few days earlier, Dawson had suffered what we thought was some kind of a stroke or maybe a seizure, we still don’t even know; but whatever it was, it was a giant step backward, and I was terrified of what was happening. I felt all alone in my fears, and as I sat in the bathtub I started to cry. I was scared that so many things in my life were spiraling out of control. Greg walked into the bathroom and cooly patted my shoulder.
“Everything will be okay.” Then he just continued getting ready for bed, without another word, as if nothing was wrong with me at all. He didn’t even ask me why I was crying. I remember feeling a sudden rage that my husband didn’t care enough about me to even talk to me or comfort me. It was a defining moment when I might have checked out of my marriage.
I was spending time looking for others to make me happy, when I should have been spending time figuring out why I needed that so much. At that point, we had drifted so far apart without realizing what was happening. Our marriage was like the Titanic, it was sinking from all the holes that had been bashed through it without clear warning. I think we were both doing what we needed to in order to survive. I don’t know if Greg was chatting with girls from his past or doing anything that he shouldn’t be doing, and to be honest, I have never asked him. Maybe that question doesn’t need to be asked, and I don’t think it would have mattered if he was.
I look back at my behavior and hate that part of me. I hate that I didn’t fight harder to fix what was broken in my marriage. Instead, I put Band-Aids on something that was so precious and valuable to me, something I thought would last forever. We both got lazy, and instead of clinging to each other when things got rough, we pushed each other away without recognizing it.
Everyone’s idea of an affair may differ, but I was no doubt having an emotional one. I felt so out of sorts all the time and was searching for anything to take my mind off whatever it was that I was going through. Was it my marriage troubles or the stress of having an autistic child? Looking back, it had to have been both of those worlds colliding.
I was so frightened by autism, I felt the window was closing on Dawson ever having the possibility of a recovery. He wasn’t progressing like I had hoped, he was actually getting worse despite all our hard work. The whole thing had become overwhelming and demoralizing. I had no idea what to do next. I felt a paralyzing sense of hopelessness, and the pressure I put on myself to act like I was fine and had everything under control was speeding toward the boiling point.
As I sit and write this, it hurts my heart. I am filled with sadness that we let those painful events blur our strength and commitment to each other and how it turned me into a person I hated. I think we both became spoiled by the magical fairy-tale life of fame, fortune and a love for each other that seemed unbreakable. I wish my older self could have wrapped my arms around my younger self back then and said, “Sarah, YES this sucks ass big time, but you both need to get your shit together and fight for your family. This is so much bigger than your own feelings right now, and you will need each other more than you’ll ever know down the road. Go on a nice date together, get a bottle of wine, talk about your feelings. MOVE FORWARD for Christ’s sake!”
CHAPTER 13
IN 2007, IT WAS TIME FOR another Swindell move—just because things were so boring in our lives. Seriously though, we did decide to pack up the family once again and head back to Austin for the second time. After years of reflecting on the reasons why we lived in an obscene number of different homes, my only conclusion is that not only did I enjoy the process, but it was an escape. I would get lost in the intense process of moving and forget about the bigger issues, plain and simple.
If I had it to do all over again, I would have just stayed put, especially for the kids. I am certain they were never able to feel completely settled throughout their childhood. Maybe they were so young they never learned what settled felt like. It makes me sad knowing they are never able to use the words “childhood home” and were never able to form strong friendships with neig
hborhood kids. I have seen the benefit that normalcy can bring to a child’s life through both of my brothers’ families. I am hopeful my daughters will be able to provide that for their own children someday, as I should have for them.
We thought this move to Austin would make things easier for Greg, and I would have less time alone since he was still volunteer coaching for the Texas Longhorns. The kids seemed to be okay with another big move, especially Hayley, who was having a hard time adjusting to high school in Arizona. The Austin vibe was much more to her liking.
Maybe because the younger girls had each other, it was easier for them to adjust to new situations and places. As for Dawson, he surprisingly went with the flow, and I quickly got to work gathering together his team of therapists once again. Finding a good therapist is like finding the perfect soul mate, there has to be a mutual trust and connection. It’s either there that first meeting or it’s not.
This is when Olivia came into our lives. She would remain one of Dawson’s main caregivers and a part of our family for many years to follow. She had a quiet, calm demeanor, and the moment she would walk in the door, I instantly felt better just knowing she was there. She pushed Dawson, but never in the harsh or brutal way that he had experienced in the past. Her love and patience, along with her dedication to finding ways to make the tiniest of breakthroughs, shaped Dawson into the person he is today. He is potty trained because of her, can sit in a restaurant because of her, and can follow simple tasks that used to be nearly impossible, because of her. All because she believed in him and never gave up. She would selflessly take him to her home for sleepovers to give us breaks, even after her own long day. She rescued me when I had strep throat and could not get off the couch. She saw our family at its very best and at its demoralizing worst, without judgment.
Rounding Home: A Memoir of Love, Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Hope with an Intimate Look into Raising a Child with Severe Autism Page 10
