Grief is Love

Having a child with a disability is a million things.

It’s unbelievable joy.

It’s seeing and experiencing every single milestone.

It’s happiness.

It’s feeling the gut wrenching pain of watching them suffer.

It’s finding your voice of advocacy.

It’s seeing firsthand that bullying exists.

It’s seeing resilience.

It’s being turned inside out.

It’s carrying a weight that most cannot see.

It’s wanting to fight. And run. And hurt. And protect. And scream.

It’s a million things. It’s so much.

So much more.

And tonight. For me. It was being 11 years in. With my feet planted firmly in acceptance. And coming face to face with a boy.

A boy the same age as my son.

A boy who is almost a teen. Brownish hair. Not yet a man.

One. Who was without a doubt a autistic.

But talks. And is able to be and out and about. Able to stand in line.

And suddenly feeling, after a million years of being okay, feeling the pain and worry and pride and wondering and jealousy and every other feeling…

And wonder of a boy.

Because he is everything. I needed to be near him. I need more.

Tonight, I found myself in line for food with a boy. A boy my son’s age.

His hands danced. He eyes darted. He gave me no time. Because he was busy.

And I cried. Sobbed really. In line for food. The tears fell. After 11 years.

See, my friends, grief is not linear. It’s not a straight path. You do not overcome it. It will find you.

Because grief is love. A beautiful love.

It comes in waves. Crashing. Coming out of nowhere.

All because of a boy. A beautiful boy. A perfect boy.

A boy who is not my son.

But reminded me that autism is a spectrum. It is not a straight line.

Moms. Dads. Grandparents.

Tonight I saw everything that could be. That may be. That isn’t. That maybe someday.

And it hurt. It almost leveled me. But I didn’t let it.

‘I have a little boy just like you. His name is Cooper. And I am so proud to be his mom.’

That’s what I said to him as he danced in line.

He had no idea I was crying. Because I hid it. Happy tears. Happy that he was there. Happy that I met him. Happy that he exists.

‘I. Would like to meet him. Someday. Your son.’ That’s what he said to me.

Tonight I shall cry. I shall feel and wish and hope and all of the things. Because I am human. A mama. And grief is love.

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and join our supporter page, Coop’s Troops, for an amazing community full of support and understanding.