I set the dvr to record a documentary on PBS about 4 adults living with autism and the realtionships, or lack thereof, they had or would like to have with a significant other. 

As Samuel sat on the couch, slipping into his world of hyperfocusing, arranging and rearranging his many giraffes, we began to watch.  I made it 10 minutes, and I abruptly asked Scott to turn it off. I walked into our bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and sobbed. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe. 

Scott came in, and he adamantly said, “I deleted that show!” Bless him. He wanted to fix the cause of my heartache. But, there is not a thing that can be done when a mother’s heart hurts, except for prayer. Only talking to my Savior can help my brokeness, and even then, it takes time to overcome. 

One of the “rules” I have subconsciously followed during these months of Samuel’s life, especially after diagnosis, is to plan for the future without pondering what the future holds. There is a finite line between the two, and my mind often blurs it in the sand, causing worry, sadness, fear, and even anger. This documentary- these men with autism- threw me into what may be in my son’s future, and I wasn’t prepared.  

So, I move on.  Because lying down in the midst of my grief will only give me permission to wallow in it. I can’t. I won’t. Not today, anyway.