Sometimes, I take things for granted. And sometimes, I complain. I tend to do a lot of this with the seasons. I felt like summer took forever to get here this year. Once it did?Summer’s radiating heat, surrounded me from the asphalt beneath my shoes to the thick and stagnant air I had to breathe in the peak of the day.
Held hostage by the demands of work, I missed the point of the season. The freedom from constraints. Constraints of heavy clothing and tight shoes. The freedom of grass between my barefoot toes in damp, cool grass. Breathing in the sweet night air. A beautiful sunset. The sounds of crickets coming in to my ears through an open window, in the late evening. The smell of a fully blooming rose.
Where did all the carefree splendor of summer go? It seems it has now left me like swirling water down an irretrievable drain. I can’t go back and pay more attention. I can no longer savour the beauty of long days and warm evenings. It’s all gone. Lost. Time that has passed me by.
I must turn around and face forward to autumn.
Thinking of the loss of summer, makes me think of more important things I don’t want to miss.
I don’t want to take these moments of my son’s growth for granted. I don’t want to complain of his behavior. Just like summer’s arrival, I feel like it took me forever to have a beautiful child of my own. Some days, I must just drink in the simple miracle and beauty that is my child. His innocence. His sweet smile and small hands that reach out for mine. His soft cheeks. The giggles. The baby kisses.
Instead of giving a quick hug and telling him to go play, I hold that hand, give him deep pressure hugs and hundreds of kisses. We play. Before I know it, the season of his childhood will only be a memory. I don’t want to look back and wish I’d done something differently. Something that was within my control.
This will be our 6th fall together, my beautiful son and I. He was but four months old when he passed through this season the first time around. I knew nothing of a diagnosis then.
The miracle of his being has never been lost on me. I am not a young mom. Looking at my son, I am blessed with the knowledge that I was lucky enough to be given motherhood. Not everyone gets in this club. And as much I as I might complain about how hard it is, I would not change a single minute of it.
Even with all the therapies, the school, the homework, the meals, and baths, there is still a lot of time to play cars and trains and dinosaurs. There is time to mold Playdoh, ride bikes, read books, tell stories, find the tickle monster, whisper secrets and stare at the moon and the clouds in the sky.
I can still go back and have my childhood all over again with my son. And in those moments? Autism is irrelevant.