you and I,
hand in hand
and I begin to talk
you can understand me
It’s something I really struggle with
still. (Among other things, *sigh*)
Often I find myself
censoring what I say to you
because I figure, what’s the point
Isn’t that terrible?
It is. It is. It is.
But today, as we walk in the fading glow of the sun’s final curtain call
I hold your hand
tired of the uncomfortable silence between us
the one that has become so second nature
the one that will only fester and grow if I don’t put a stop to it
and I speak to you the way I should speak to you, but often times don’t know how
I am timid at first
but soon my shyness gives way to
one-sided in the eyes of a stranger
but I force myself to hope that you understand more than I often give you credit for
and I talk
and I take you to the place where
I fell off a moped when I was young and stupid and brave
and I tell you the story, in all it’s ridiculous adolescent glory
and even though it’s a story you may not understand (I have to find a way to be okay with that, don’t I?)
it’s a story you deserve to hear
It’s not perfect, this conversation
I stumble, trying to find the right words
My sentences meek, clipped, too carefully constructed
I stop in the middle of the street and search for signs that you are listening
that you have an opinion
that you even give a damn
and I am frightened that maybe you don’t.
that maybe you can’t.
But I keep on talking
while we keep on walking
because you are my son
because the right thing is rarely the easy thing
because if nothing else
you are worthy of the benefit of the doubt
you are worthy of
to choose to
5 Replies to “An Uneasy but Altogether Necessary Conversation”
Even though he cannot tell you, he cherishes this conversation…
Jo, you are an amazing mother, and your son is an incredible human being. Your bond is so easy to see, though unspoken. I am in love with how huge your heart is.
“because the right thing is rarely the easy thing”
Oh my gosh Jo! My heart is breaking. You and your family are so strong and such an inspiration. Amazing post!!!
Tears* It’s beautiful! I’m sure he hears you. My sister was autistic. It got in though.
I bow to you for sharing your journey. (btw, I’m Natasha’s mom)