Matthew had been at camp for two and a half days when it hit me that I had stopped grinding my teeth. This was two years ago, when Matthew was 21 and home for the summer from Camphill Soltane in Pennsylvania. The lack of structure at home had made Matthew anxious, impulsive-and aggressive. I prayed…

I went to pick up Matthew at Camphill, the residential community where he lives near Santa Cruz for the Memorial Day Weekend. I was anxious to get on the road by noon so that we could beat traffic. But when Matthew walked out to great me, I could tell by the look on his face…

This is where we left off last week: I looked at Kim, who was now cradling Cali in his arms as she licked his face enthusiastically. “Matthew has some yard work to do,” I said. “Could you do me a big favor and wear this puppy out?” Kim nodded eagerly, and the two fled to…

The day before Matthew’s first day of high school, I pushed open the door to Joe’s Barbershop, the intense August heat on my back. Matthew trailed behind me, a big expectant smile on his face. He went straight for the lollipops on the counter, the ones you are supposed to get after the haircut. Trips…

My twenty two year old autistic son Matthew had an impressive meltdown last summer that could so easily have been prevented. Tall, handsome and wiry with sandy blonde hair and earnest brown eyes, he came bolting from the kitchen, where he had been talking to my husband, Peter. He picked up a dining room chair,…