It’s dark now at 5:00 p.m. The chaos of the day winds down and the house gives out a low hum of acceptance. I sit in the vacated dining room. All home programs are finally finished.
The approaching Winter is the season I go inward for reflection and renewal. It’s a time of assessing. The internal fields are harvested and new hope is germinated.
The three children I gave birth to were diagnosed with autism. I’ve known this for ten years, and I’m still not over it. Tomorrow I will drive for an hour to visit a family I have never met in person. I’ll go alone, as this is a journey for me as much as for them.
My boys are my teachers on the real journey. Unknowingly, they pluck triad chords of surprised joy in me. Sometimes a vacant stare, a strange gesture, or a random word can be a shard of pain. My sons help me to remember, in the midst of making schedules, planning, structuring, coordinating with therapists and workers, that I must again deal with my insides even when the world insists upon my attention. I also choose to run to demands I create rather than listen to myself.
He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless (because he wants to keep his life private) just read the above. He mentioned my blog statistics and warned this post wasn’t very funny. “Where’s the hohoho and mistletoe, and pretty girls for the holidays? Hmmm?” I initially ignore his Peanuts reference, but HWSRN* has a point. The majority of “views” so far were on my funny posts.
Like most, sometimes my life is not so funny.
My family will survive the holidays, as we have every year. And I will survive the holiday blues. We have learned to do Christmas with a light touch. We celebrate an Impressionist Christmas. Abbreviated visits to relatives with no travelling out-of-town work best for us. We decorate only a week before the big day. We keep the gifts down to a dull roar. We will especially be doing that this year. If there’s Some Assembly Required, we build before wrapping.
But I’m looking forward to a new year. I will try not to always look at my kids under the autism microscope. I will listen to myself. I will heal and then break, heal, and then break again. When young bones fracture, they are stronger after they mend than before they broke. My spirit is young; someday I’ll be a superhero. For now, I’m mom.
* He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless, aka husband