[On mothering] Autism.

I walk before you,

always searching for

the danger

that you will never see;

or,

anticipate.

I walk next to you,

always with your hand in mine,

even now as time,

mercilessly,

changes you into a man.

My mother’s hands

will hold you,

for as long as I can.

This,

I promise.

I walk behind you,

to let you go;

just a little.

Just

a

little.

My tongue is never still;

always interpreting this bright, noisy,

overwhelming world;

for you.

Helping you make sense of

this beautiful,

never-ending

assault

on your senses.

My mouth is never quiet;

always interpreting your bright,

quirky flappiness

for the rest of the world.

Hoping,

that through my

fluency

they might see,

you,

and walk in kindness.

They don’t always understand;

the beauty

of you.

My eyes are always searching;

searching,

always.

For

just

a glimmer of kindness;

somewhere.

My hands are strong;

toughened.

From holding on;

fiercely clinging

to hope.

Where sometimes,

it feels like

there is none.

My heart holds more love

than I ever thought

possible.

This muscle grown strong

from loving you;

without condition.

Grown strong,

from standing up

to threats.

And there have been many.

And even on days where

my heart

is cracked

from the weight

of dreams,

broken,

I still count it all as

beautiful.

This gift

of

you.

—[On mothering] Autism.

Published by

Liezel Graham

Wife. Mum. Lover of words. Lover of the Word. Writer of stories. I drink too much coffee and dream improbably big dreams. The quintessentially weird kid, all grown up and (still) finding refuge in books and words.

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