My grown son has autism. And while I wouldn't trade him -- the person to whom I gave birth -- for any other, I wish that his disability were as recognizable as Down syndrome and that we, his parents, were more effective at helping him achieve a satisfying life. Right now, we're flummoxed by the issues that arise as a child with autism veers into adulthood: higher education, employment, independent living, romance. In all these areas, family members of those with Down syndrome have figured out a cohesive, workable system of support.
They have some advantages that we don't. First, Down syndrome is quantifiable: There is a definitive diagnosis and a general similarity of experience. It doesn't have the random diversity of autism, which spans a range from nonverbal to simply rigid and from low IQ to extremely high. Second, those parents have mobilized. Parents of children and adults with Down syndrome routinely trade information and assist one another in accessing care.
Third -- and most important -- they have carved out a place in society for their children. It's a hackneyed myth that people with Down syndrome are uniformly happy, but it is true that they have the capacity for joy and that their community has ensured they have a breadth of options -- career, marriage, dignity.
This is what we who love people with autism must do.