Love Will Always Conquer the Grief
I had a dream a few weeks ago that I’ve never had, and have thought about ever since.
You woke up and sat at the end of the kitchen table with me while I was drinking my coffee. I asked you how you slept and you answered me. You asked me to make you breakfast, and we sat and talked without an iPad screen between us.
You told me about your friends at school and how you think the little blonde girl in your class from last year likes you too. You told me how you hoped your friends would be in your class next year, and asked me if I would always get your name sewn on your backpack every year. I told you that of course I would.
You thanked me, told me you loved me, and ran out the door to ride your bike.
And then I woke up.
And my grief began all over again.
I realized once again, that I will more than likely never have this conversation with you. That despite how excited you are to wear your backpack everyday when you go to school, you’ll likely never care that I have always had your name sewn on that backpack, no matter how trivial it may seem.
I may not ever get to hear you nervously tell me about the little blonde girl from your class and how you hope she likes you too.
And my heart breaks all over again.
I read a blog once about the unique grief that special needs parent go through. It’s a never ending, ever present, black hole of emotions that comes in waves.
Sometimes the waves are small and brief, while other times they feel like they could swallow me whole. No one talks about the grief.
They don’t tell you how many friends and family members you will lose (and gain.) That people who help bring you into this world, and who are supposed to stay forever, will go because they will decide that this life that they didn’t bargain for, is too much for them.
They don’t tell you how much that will hurt you.
They don’t tell you that you will grieve the loss of a child who is still alive.
The secret world of Autism…
Despite all of those things, they didn’t tell me that I would love you the way that I do. That regardless all of the things that I would not get to experience while raising you, I would get to know what it’s like to raise an angel.
That although I may never get to hear about your first crush, I would get to hear you singing Christmas carols in the middle of summer at the top of your lungs.
And that after years of not one spoken word, you would tell me you loved me and ask me for a kiss every night before you go to bed. And that love will always conquer the grief, no matter how big the wave comes crashing down.
The secret world of Autism.
Written by, Larkin Banister
My name is Larkin Banister. I am a fellow Autism mama and my son Tallen is 7 years old and was diagnosed with Autism and SPD at around 2 years old.
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