Riding a carousel is fun, the first few loops around. As you spin and spin, reliving the same scenery as you whirl around a rotating center, the journey loses a little bit of its charm. The journey of Catherine Maurice and her two autistic children in Let Me Hear Your Voice felt a bit like this carnival ride. What was amazing, thrilling, and enjoyable at the start became monotonous and predictable as it dragged on.

It can be so hard to be honest with subjects that we find painful. Catherine Maurice did an admirable  job of describing her journey through speculation, denial, acceptance, resolution, and triumph. Her candid descriptions revealed the kind of dedication that every child deserves in a mother. Her children are lucky that they have this beautiful record of their childhoods and triumph over disability told from her loving perspective. The reader could sympathetically sense Maurice’s pain as she held little Anne Marie on her lap, coercing eye contact with her rhythmic, repetitive “look at me.” We became a cheering section. Because we took that journey with her, the reader felt an equal sense of satisfaction and jubilation as Anne Marie made strides towards “normalcy” including social interaction and  communication.

It seemed incredulous as Catherine began to hint that Michel was exhibiting signs of autism. We as readers trusted her perceptions, having “earned her stripes” through the trials and tribulations she faced during Anne Marie’s diagnosis and treatment, but couldn’t imagine that lightning could strike twice in this family. When Michel’s eventual diagnosis did occur, it could be reasonably expected that with the expert help of Bridget and Robin to support Catherine’s dedicated reinforcement, Michel too would improve. This part of the story felt redundant, and painted the family a bit too much as miracle workers than the average parent. Perhaps the story would have been more salient if it had left off at Michel’s diagnosis and the reader was allowed to fill in the blanks. Since there were no major differences in treatment, I combed the last 50-100 pages of the text looking for something new. Beyond Michel’s initial violent resistance, I found nothing.

In writing, as in life, sometimes it is best to stop while you’re ahead. Let Me Hear Your Voice was an exquisitely written journal that is surely part of the canon for families, doctors, and teachers who work with autistic children. I only wish Maurice would have displayed more trust in her readers, allowing us off the carousel before we became disinterested.

I think it is the spontaneity and unexpectedness in which one’s life changes that makes hitting the jackpot so appealing. We enter casinos, buy raffle chances, and play the lottery for the mere chance of getting whalloped with winnings, probably not really believing it will happen. Yet is the hope that something better lies beyond and that we deserve karmic goodness to come our way that keeps us buying in. Perhaps it is also a bit of a daydream, a voyeuristic daily escape from reality into what could be. What’s inside my thought bubble? If I had a bottomless change purse, I have a few dreams of my own.

For someone who is the biggest homebody I know, I live to travel. In the days when facebook “interests” used to be a competition in irony and capturing yourself in witty little snippets, I believe that I had one that said that I fancied “going places and then coming home.” If financial constraints were removed, I would make a trip at least once a month. I would start with Argentina to visit family, and dot my way across the globe collecting physical and emotional mementos of each place. I would keep a paper map of each city and mark up its curves and lines with the paths I walk, creating a tangible memory of my visits.

I would create a scholarship at my high school, and donate to the Alzheimer’s Association. It is important to give back to those who have given to you, and there is no gift more life-changing than education. In my lifetime, I hope that no one will have to suffer the pain of watching the spirit of someone they love die while living that Alzhiemer’s Disease and Dementia bring. I live it daily with my dad, and would love nothing more than a cure to save other humans from this devastating pain.

I would set myself and my family up with stable futures, in terms of savings and homes. I would purchase the “Gatsby” house at the tip of the Great Neck peninsula, my hometown. I would entertain and share it with others as much as I could. I would relish the town in which I grew up and its proximity to the greatest city in the world as I woudl view the New York City skyline from my top windows.

I am sure each of us didn’t have to think too much about our first plans for our “winnings,” and that’s a lovely thing. At its purest, that faith in the possibility of “winning the jackpot” represents love and self-worth. It also shows a strong sense of identity, revealing what it is that we most value in this world. In reality, though, the schemes we devise may sound grand, but nothing feels as sweet as relishing something that you have earned. A jackpot facilitates dreams, but then again so does hard work…