“What would happen to Matthew if you guys were killed in a plane crash?” asked a nervy acquaintance. The question stunned me. Since my son, Matthew was first diagnosed with autism as a toddler, I’d been asked tough questions about his future. “Will he ever live on his own and hold down a job? Do you think he’ll get married?”

The questions hurt me and haunted me, but over time, they helped. They forced me to look ahead and prepare for the future. Perhaps: At 16, he started attending a nurturing school for students with intellectual and developmental disabilities, for two years. The organization also has communities for adults, and Matthew, now 21, plans to move to one in nearby Santa Cruz this summer to pursue his dream of becoming a professional gardener. He has doctors, psychologists, and social workers who have helped us set goals for him and monitor his progress.

In practical terms, Matthew and his two younger brothers will be taken care of if my husband and I die unexpectedly. Andy and John, Matthew’s “typically developing” brothers will likely go on to make emotional connections that will sustain them when we’re gone.

What about Matthew?

Even though we have surrounded him with a great support system, when it comes to Matthew’s emotional life, I’m the quarterback. When he is lonely, angry, or just plain out of sorts, he comes to me, and we work things out. I don’t always have a solution to his problems. I can’t find him a friend; and I can’t make the girls that he likes pay attention to him. But I can remind him that he is wonderful, talented, and loved. I often follow up our talks by asking the many others who care about him to give him a call. Better yet, ask him to mow their lawns.

It’s a topic that makes all parents shudder. What will happen to my kids if I leave the earth prematurely? For the parents of those with disabilities, the question is almost too painful to consider yet painfully important.

What we can do is surround our sons and daughters with family, friends, and nurturing caretakers while we’re still here. That’s what I’m doing. I’m hopeful that at least one of them will provide Matthew with the emotional support he’ll need when I’m gone.

But I don’t know for sure. I guess it would be a good idea to ask them.

So thank you— nervy neighbors, acquaintances, family, and friends—for the questions. They helped me.