when silas turs 3 he will be riding a bus like this to take him t his classes, and this poem really explains how i feel about putting him on that bus that will take him away...:(

The School Bus
When he was two
I put him on the bus
he was just a baby
my little baby.
going to a school
to learn what I
in all my wisdom
could not teach him.

I took him to the bus stop
that morning,
holding back the tears,
handing him over
to strangers.
I had not expected
this, I had looked forward
to days filled with
fun and laughter,
playing in the park
jumping in puddles,
and swinging high in the air.

He still had those baby cheeks,
and his hands were pudgy
I had not cut his hair ever
and it fell down around
his shoulders.
This was not supposed
to happen.
I was being robbed,
I was supposed to have
had this little child
for three more years.
I should have been the one
to help him learn
to show him the world.

But I could not even
teach him who he was.
I had to come to grips
with that knowledge
that others, would teach
my child, that my hands
were not the hands
to guide him.
I had to let him go
in order to gather him home.

He didnt care that
I had put him on a bus
to go to a school, where
they would try and reach him.
He didn't turn to wave
as I stood on the sidewalk
blowing a kiss.
No tears were shed
by the baby in the school bus,
no goodbyes for the
mother on the street.

He sat clutching his
new backpack,
reciting the alphabet
over and over.
When the bus pulled away
I walked home,
holding in tears
that promised to fall.

Opening the door
the stillness hit me,
the quiet, the solitude.
I was not ready for this,
that bus had taken away my baby.
I wanted to run after it
screaming for it to stop
I wanted to grab that
small boy, hold him
and hurry home.
Sing to him, bake cookies
and rock him to sleep.

But I could not,
his only hope was
the bus that would take
him to a place where
loving hands would work
their magic, would tend
and teach
And so it was,
that day when
the school bus came.

I let him go.

Autism is not the end of the World
. . . . just
the beginning of a new one.