My dear sweet boy.
I lingered a little longer tonight after you fell asleep. Watching you so peacefully breathing. Your body still. Quiet.
My dear sweet boy.
When it is just us – just you and me – you are so present. You look right at me. Your big brown eyes twinkling when we talk. Dancing when you laugh.
And then you leave me. What happens when you leave me?
I don’t know how to fix it. It’s a mother’s instinct to fix things. To “kiss it better”.
When we are together, I can help you. I navigate the bumpy waters. I am by your side.
I am three steps ahead of you, anticipating the next curve. We keep each other even. We avert the meltdowns, the aggression, the rage.
What happens when you walk out that door?
I want to help you figure out how to adapt to the world around you. But I so desperately want to help the world learn how to adapt to you.
What makes you so challenging when you leave my arms?
How can I make them see what I see? I see the boy who jumps up and down beaming with pride when he gets an answer right. I see the boy who laughs a contagious laugh at the funny jokes. I see the boy who can light up the room with his smile.
The boy who just wants to please.
The boy who was so happy.
How do I show them the wonder that is you?
“Do you wish you had my brain?”, my son asked. “Do you wish you could think like I do?”
Yes. I do. I would do anything for just one moment to be you.
To feel what you feel. To see what you see. To think like you think.
Maybe then I could understand how to help you.
Maybe then I could fix it for you.
Maybe then I could “kiss it better.”
Like a mother should.
“People see me
I’m a challenge to your balance
I’m over your heads
How I confound you and astound you
To know I must be one of the wonders
Of God’s own creation
And as far as you can see you can offer me
No explanation ” – Wonder by Natalie Merchant