You write check after check for tens and tens of thousands and thousands. You invest in special schools, doctors, diets, and therapies. Hours become days. Days become years. You give everything. You give stuff you didn’t know was in there because you have no choice. You didn’t ask for this, but you were given this miraculous little puzzle, so it’s what you do. You commit for the long haul.
Others have no such vested interest.
You want to shake them and grab them by their collars and say, “See?! Can’t you see what progress he’s made?! Do you have any idea how hard he’s worked? Can’t you see how far he’s come?!?!”
Can’t you see how far he’s come?
But the world-renowned center sends you a report clinically damning his progress.
“Autism will be a life-long condition …”
Yeah. No kidding.
And the schoolyard moms – some seemingly closer to his age than mine and fresh out of their newly minted SUVs – try not to make eye contact with that boy or his father.
“You should really watch your child.”
Yeah? No kidding?
He often looks at me and says “I’ll try harder, daddy.”
Me too, buddy. Me, too.
Let us give thanks for the special people in your life. Let us be thankful and grateful. For Miss Audrey and Miss Nadia and Miss Kelly and Miss Teresa and Miss Lechelle and Miss Jennifer and Dr. Holly and Dr. Baptist and even that daffy Dr. Amy. Therapists who don’t give up and teachers who care. And mama … especially your warrior mama. Let the gratitude wash over the rage and drown it for another night.
Tomorrow’s a new day. Tomorrow we’ll get back to work. Tonight, let’s just hug and snuggle and dream. And pray maybe a little. And breathe deep a lot.
All is calm. All is bright. Tomorrow’s a new day.