Month: October 2026

Last month we took the boys to a mountain called Vall de Núria. The plan was simple on paper. Ride the Blue Train up the valley, which is the only way to get there. Ride the cable car over the pine trees. Sleep in a wooden cabin on the French side. And make memories in our Road trip.

Simple on paper. Never simple in practice.

The train ride that made Guille light up

We parked the car and waited for the Blue Train. We started from the very first stop, because Adri and Guille wanted to see the whole climb and I was not about to deny him a single meter of track. So Luis and I planned a trip that included their interests.

The whole way up, Guille could not stop smiling. The Blue Train reminded him of Eric, the blue train from one of his favorite shows, Titipo. Imagine being six years old and seeing one of your characters alive in front of you for the first time. The look on his face is one of those things that I will keep in my heart for the rest of my life. And specially if the words: “Blue Train Eric” came out of his tiny little mouth. Music to our ears.

Adri sat quietly, watching the mountains come up to meet us. He is twelve. He does not light up the way Guille does, but he feels things just as deeply. He wanted the whole ride. Every bend. Every meter. He got what he came for. They both did.

Almost an hour of train, going up. I sat with Luis, watching their faces, remembering why we do this.

At the top

The Valley is breathtaking, so much nature, families, a lake. We decided to explore it all. I had packed sandwiches, just in case the food up there was not something the boys would eat. I did not know what was going to be available, and I would rather carry a backpack full of Ham, Boiled eggs and Sandwiches than find myself with two hungry boys on a mountain (and a mom too). We ate the sandwiches.

The cable car took us even higher. We rode up with it, and decided to walk back down. Once we were up there, the four of us just stopped. We took deep breaths. We watched a family of marmots in the grass.

Going down the mountain, we saw horses along the way. It was one of those family moments that lands quietly. Nothing dramatic. Just all of us, together, in the middle of a mountain we had never seen before, taking it in.

Alert, even on a good day

I want to tell you the truth about what else was happening in my body while I was on that mountain.

I was on alert the entire time. Guille has a tendency to just start running when he feels free. The mountain was steep. The path back down had sudden drops. I did not take my eyes off him for more than a few seconds at a time. I could feel the vigilance in my shoulders. We took turns holding his hand.

That is autism parenting. The good days are good. The alert does NOT switch off.

I think most moms carry some version of this. For autism moms, it is turned up a level. Even in the most beautiful moment, there is a part of me that is scanning. Measuring the distance between my body and his. Planning what I would do if he started running toward the edge.

I write this not to make the moment sound heavy. The moment was beautiful. I write this because if you are an autism mom reading this, I want you to know that your constant scanning is not an overreaction. It is love. It is your love doing exactly what it was built to do.

The first night went sideways

The day before going to the mountain, we stayed the first night in a Sky Lodge in France. A wooden cabin tucked into the trees. We arrived after school on a friday, which meant we got there at the end of a long week. Travel day, school day, mountain day, all on top of each other.

The cabin was fully made of wood, with ski paintings on the walls because people come here to ski in the winter. The whole look of it, combined with the long day, combined with an unfamiliar space, was too much for Guille.

He had a meltdown.

I am going to tell you what that looked like, because I think it matters.

A few years ago, this meltdown would have been something else entirely. It would have been louder, longer, more frightening to all of us. Highly considering going back home. He is six now, and he is learning. The meltdown that night was shorter. He hit stuff a couple of times, though honestly it felt more like pressure than hitting, if that makes sense. He threw a couple of things into the air. Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes used to be the beginning. Now thirty minutes is sometimes the whole thing.

I notice this. I let myself be proud of him for it, even in the middle of it.

What we did

Luis and I sat with him. We did not reach for the phone, even though we both know the phone is regulating for him. Here is why. We lost a tablet in the summer when he threw it into the air during a hard moment, and I was not going to lose another one. So we trusted him and gave him space with the things we knew he liked, nothing he could break.

We stayed close to him but giving him space. We did not fix. We did not rush. We did not ask him to stop. We just stayed.

Here is the thing nobody told me before I became an autism mom. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for your child is to not do anything at all. To stay in the room. To not look at your phone. To not reach for a bottle of water or a snack or a solution. To just be a steady body in the space with them.

And then, almost like a switch flipped, he smiled. He got up. He started going up and down the cabin stairs, laughing. We did a video for keepsakes. He wanted me to watch him. I watched him. I think I smiled with my whole chest. That night he slept it the top floor of the cabin happy and safe, alongside his brother.

The rest of the trip was lovely. Trains, cable cars, pine trees, a mountain town.

What it taught us

A lot of what we have learned over years of traveling with the boys got us to this trip. The confidence to go. The confidence to prepare. The confidence to try somewhere new. The willingness to accept that one night can go sideways and the next day can be everything you came for.

That is what our new book, Autism: Our Travel Adventure, is built from. Every tool, every strategy, every social story is something we have actually used in a hard moment. The book is us handing families everything we had to learn on our own, because I remember being the mom who did not know where to start, and I would really used a book like this when my Adri was a toddler.

Here is what I would say to any autism mom about to travel with her child:

• Pack safe foods. Breakfast and dinner. You will thank yourself.
• Build social stories for the parts you know will be hardest.
• Prepare for the first night to be the hardest. The whole travel day lands on kids at once.
• Stay. Do not fix. Do not rush. Just stay with them.
• Keep the regulating tool safe. If your child throws things in hard moments, do not hand them something you cannot afford to replace.
• Thirty minutes of hard can turn into days of beautiful. I have seen it over and over.

Vall de Núria was worth it. Guille rode his Blue Train, and his face lit up every time Eric came back around a bend. Adri watched the mountains pass through the cable car window and said almost nothing, which from him is a kind of yes. We ate sandwiches on a mountaintop with a family of marmots in the grass. And were luck to find pizza in the canteen. We came home with photos I will keep for years, and with a story I needed to tell.

Traveling with autistic kids is not easier because you prepared. It is possible because you prepared.

That is the difference the book is here to make. Autism: Our Travel Adventure launches October 27. If this trip could happen with planning, yours can too.
Keep Posted for updates.

Learn more about the book here: https://lovingpiecesbooks.com/autism-our-travel-adventure/

Last week, the news here in Catalonia was heavy. A twelve-year-old autistic boy went missing from his home in Granollers during a thunderstorm. He had fled the house, frightened by the storm. Ten days later, his body was found on a beach in Sitges.

I want to start by saying to his family. We are so sorry. All of us. The autism community in Catalonia and far beyond held you in our hearts for ten long days, and we are still holding you now.

The ten days

While the search was happening, my phone would not stop pinging. The autism community here in Catalonia got together within hours. People I had never met were sharing his photo. People were asking in group chats, have you seen this boy, have you seen this boy, where was he last. Volunteers were going out organized by the local firehouse. Local parents were walking the areas he might have crossed. We were all one wide net of autism families trying to help bring someone else’s child home.

That is the part of the story I want people to know. Our community moves. Fast and with love. A missing autistic child is not just that family’s crisis. It is ours too.

The storm

The night he left home, there was a huge thunderstorm. Not a small one. The kind of storm where our own house in Barcelona shook and the lights flickered.

For an autistic child with sensory sensitivities, a storm like that can be unbearable. Imagine your nervous system already running loud, and then the sky itself turns into noise and light. Your home does not feel safe. Nothing feels safe. The instinct to flee is real.

I am not going to pretend to know exactly what happened to him. I did not know him. But I know enough autistic kids, and I live with two of my own, to know what overwhelm can do.

The comments

I read a lot of the comments under the news. Most were full of love. Hearts, condolences, families saying they were praying for his safe return. Many were educational, trying to tell people that autistic children have a known pull toward water. That autistic children can elope when they are overwhelmed.

Then there were other comments. Where was the mother. Why did the boy escape. Something is wrong with this story. There is something they are not telling us.

I understand those comments more than I wish I did. Not because they are right, but because I know where they come from.

If you have never lived with an autistic child who elopes, you cannot imagine what it is like. You cannot imagine installing extra locks on your own front door, locks that are turned the wrong way around so they can only be opened from the outside. You cannot imagine the way your heart stops every time you cannot see your child for ten seconds in your own home. You cannot imagine sleeping with one ear open your whole life.

My kids have a tendency to run when overwhelmed. We have taken measures I never thought I would take as a parent. And still, I know in my bones that one bad night, one open door, one storm, could be our story too.

What I need people to understand

Autism in our family and in that family in Granollers looks like constant vigilance. It is not neglect that leads to a child disappearing. It is the opposite. It is the exhaustion of parents who have been watching their child so closely for so long that the one moment they look away becomes the moment everything changes.

If you have ever typed a judgmental comment under a story about a missing autistic child, please read this. We are already doing everything. We are already afraid. We do not need you to look at us from the outside and decide what we should have done. If you don’t have something nice to say, please don’t.

The thing I want other autism parents to hear

Teach your child to swim. Early. Even if they do not love the water. Even if lessons are hard. Even if it takes years.

Autistic children are drawn to water. The statistics on drownings in our community are heartbreaking because they are so avoidable. Swimming lessons, from as young as you can start them, are one of the most important investments you will ever make in your child’s life. Both of my sons started early. Guillermo is in the pool every week, and still does not know how to swim very well. It is not a hobby. It is a safety plan.

For the family in Granollers

I do not know you. I will probably never meet you. But I have been thinking about you every day since the news came. Your boy is remembered. Your boy is being carried in a lot of hearts right now, more than you will ever get to see.

To the autism community here in Catalonia and everywhere. I am so proud of how we moved. And I am so sorry that we did not get the ending we were all praying for.

Please, when you talk about this story at your dinner table, lead with love. The people in the news comment sections are listening too, and some of them are autism parents who are reading every word and wondering if the world would blame them next.

I will be thinking about this family for a long time.

With love,

Dalisse