We walk

you and I,

hand in hand

and I begin to talk

as if

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

a conversation

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


We walk

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



more importantly

you are worthy of

the opportunity

to choose to

ignore me







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5 Replies to “An Uneasy but Altogether Necessary Conversation”

  1. Tears.
    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.

  2. Oh my gosh Jo! My heart is breaking. You and your family are so strong and such an inspiration. Amazing post!!!

  3. 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)

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