Asaf is Home: A New Chapter Begins

The smile that says it all.

On Friday Asaf came home. After three and a half years of living in a hostel, he is now back with us, and it has been an emotional whirlwind. That first day, I wasn’t sure who was more overwhelmed -Asaf, Alex (his new carer), or myself. The anticipation, excitement, and uncertainty were palpable. But despite it all, seeing his happiness shine through was worth everything. And as we sat on the sofa on Saturday night, watching a movie with Ehud instead of heading back to the hostel, it made everything feel real. Asaf is truly home.

As I stood in the shower this morning, I found myself reflecting on the ability to hold so many conflicting emotions at once—excitement and apprehension, joy and anxiety, relief and responsibility. It’s a slow process, and I remind myself daily that this is about baby steps. Even though Asaf longed for this change, it’s still an adjustment for all of us.

I’ve known Asaf his entire life, but now I’m seeing him in a way I could never have seen him before. It’s like holding two truths at once—the depth of his mind and the reality of his autism, coexisting in ways that can feel both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring.

One of the most striking aspects of this transition is the paradox of his autism. His body still moves through the world in ways that reflect his deep sensory experiences, but his words—what he writes—reveal a depth, humor, and intelligence that astound me. Yesterday, I saw that he couldn’t type because tiny, invisible crumbs on his clothes were stealing his focus. These are things I might have dismissed in the past. Now, I see them through a new lens. I’m learning about my son all over again. In many ways, it’s as if I’ve given birth to a different child—one I’m slowly, slowly starting to get glimpses of, and learning who he really is.

His motivation is what surprises me most. He never had internal motivation before. Now, he responds when I ask him to set the table or clear it after meals. He’s engaging, participating. His emotions are more accessible, more visible. And yet, with all this beauty comes an undeniable weight. The knowledge that his happiness and well-being rest so heavily on my shoulders is overwhelming. I know that once we find a rhythm, it will get easier, but for now, the beginning feels immense.

It’s a delicate balance—giving him freedom while also building the routines that will help him thrive. I know that allowing him space to breathe while also creating a framework for growth is essential. He needs time to just be, but he also needs guidance; and I’m learning how to hold both truths at once.

Alex is also adjusting. They are learning about each other, just as Asaf and I are relearning about one another. And in the midst of this transition, there are these small, golden moments—when he grabs my hand or strokes my hair, when we take walks, watch documentaries together, sit in quiet companionship; and, most importantly, when I read his words confirming that he is happy to be home.

"I received an oppurtunity to start my life a new and live in my house."

 When he typed that he was “grateful that Alex chose to walk this journey with him” I felt a deep sense of reassurance.

I constantly remind myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. For three and a half years, Asaf lived in a structured hostel where his daily routine and every decision was decided for him. Now, he needs space—time to sleep in, to watch TV, to simply exist in his own home. We are typing together daily and as his confidence grows, so will mine in supporting him.

To stay grounded, I make sure to take care of myself. It isn’t always easy, but I push myself out of bed, even on the hardest mornings, thanks to my three dogs, who leave me no choice but to do so. Yesterday, I swam, and it was incredible—a moment of weightlessness in the middle of all this heaviness. It’s easy to lose myself in all the responsibility, but I’m desperately holding onto what fuels me. That’s what will keep me strong for him.

Today, I took Asaf to Merchavim, the center that facilitates his typing with friends in a space where he feels understood. Walking on the beach, breathing the sea air, meditating, and giving myself the space to breathe is priceless. The sea holds a special place for me, it’s where I can release some of the weight I’m carrying. It’s as though the waves are a gentle reminder that, just like the ebb and flow of the water, I don’t have to hold everything at once. The sea allows me to exhale, to let go of some of the tension, and to remember that I, too, need space to just be.

This journey is full of contradictions, of overwhelming moments, but at its core, there is one undeniable truth: Asaf is happy to be home. And that is everything.

celebrating Asaf's return with a BBQ