Friday, September 24th, 2021 | Writing

My son is autistic. He is three and a half. The light of my life. And I’m terrified a lot of the time. 
When I start to grieve about the “normal” kid I don’t have I kick myself.

“Fuck you! How dare you ‘grieve’ for someone who has so much joy and so much love in his life.” He’s the only child I will have as I was in ‘advanced maternal age’ when he came along and cost me my life savings to bring to this world. I regret nothing about him.

But I am afraid. All parents are. Will he have friends? Will he be able to support himself? Will he find a loving partner? Will he have a family of his own?

Those are questions for the long term, though. Right now I’m asking, “Will he speak? Will he dress himself and use the potty unattended? Will he eat solid foods?

He is full wolverine on all of his toys. I’ll add a picture in case you don’t believe me or don’t truly understand what that means.

Chewed Toy

But the only time so far I have seen him eat something solid – and chew it – was when he picked a dead leaf off a friend’s balcony: “Oh, no! He has a leaf!” she said. I told her not to worry, he doesn’t eat solids. And into his mouth it went. Chew, chew. And down the hatch. I spent the rest of the afternoon silently praying it wasn’t magnolia or something of that ilk. (My friend assured me it wasn’t poisonous). 
I am so grateful for the little boy he is. And I have beautiful dreams of the young man he will become. There are so many people with so many challenges.

We are the lucky ones. Peace. Food. Shelter. Love. Gratitude. 

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