“Will it ever get better?” I ask my therapist. ”Will the meltdowns ever stop?” She assures me that, in most cases, they do ease up. That the fireman will find peace if we can figure out how to reach him. Until then, we’ll just have to continue stringing our polaroids together, weaving the happy snapshots of time into a flip book. And maybe, if we fan the pages very quickly, we’ll get a brief glimpse of the life that we could have had, if only autism had never found us.