I'm not sure if this train track is the right one

We went for a train ride on Sunday.
It was a much anticipated family event for the four of us.
Trains are big news in our house and between the two boys I do at times feel like I am living in an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine.

We talked lots about the train ride in advance. We wanted to prepare the Batsman for this experience but not overwhelm him with early information. It is always a delicate balance to achieve. He, along with the Bowler, were both very excited and happy as we drove the hour out to meet the steam train in the hills who would be "dressed" as Thomas for the day.

Waiting to meet Thomas

We stood on the platform and it came time to board the train. A loud whistle from a nearby diesel train blew unexpectedly. The carriage door to our steam train swung open. The Batsman went instantly into a teary meltdown of fear. Many other kids and adults stood on the platform waiting to board, watching us.

I had no time really to mull over what would come next. I scooped the Batsman into my arms, tears and all and boarded the train. The Captain followed with a still smiling Bowler. I sat on the train and cradled a crying , struggling Batsman in my arms. He pulled his hat down tightly over his eyes and cried. As the minutes passed I felt his body relax against me and he began to peer out from under his hat as the train set off.

Ten minutes into the journey and he was watching out the open carriage window. Still quiet but clearly curious. After fifteen minutes he was standing at the window and excitedly pointing out Thomas' engine to us all. We took turns at waving to the cars we saw stopped at the level crossings. By the time we pulled back into the station he looked like this.

It's loud but I like it.

He and the Bowler spent the rest of the day excited and happy, discussing the day's events and what they had seen. It was almost like the meltdown of tears never happened.

Except it did happen. And in the happening it crystallised a dilemma for me that I know we will face in varying forms into the future with the Batsman.

When do I push on, surge forward and get him to have a go at something in spite of the meltdown?
When do I allow him to remove the source of the meltdown and fear, walk away and perhaps miss out on the experience he has looked forward to? My first response is always to try, to encourage him to try, to not let him give up, and to work to get to the other side to where the gold is. But it eats at me sometimes too and the heavy guilt of a mother stays with me for days after an event like this.

Push. Pull. Stay. Go. Walk away. Run toward. Try. Give up. Try. Try. Try. Try.

As the guilt subsides, my determination kicks in again and I know, I will never, ever stop supporting him to be all he can be, to have a real red hot go at life, autism and all.

Even if it makes us both cry sometimes.