Small miracles.

I’ve said that my son’s behavior raises my blood pressure. It’s challenging, no doubt. But it is what it is, and each day we take a deep breath and deal with it and love him the best that we can.

What really pisses me off about autism is this: A lot of the time, he feels lost to me. He’s in another world and I can’t communicate with him. I lose my patience. I grieve. I feel sad for him, for me, for our family.

Then, there are moments of lucidity, when DS IS the child I like to imagine him to be.

Last night. After dinner, I found DS and DD playing quietly in their playroom upstairs. “What’re you guys up to?” “We’re making DNA out of these bendy strips.” I joined them on the floor. Playing, talking, laughing. What do we know about DNA, viruses, our blood cells?

“Hey, look at this pattern; I can make it three-dimensional.” “That looks like a merry-go-round.” “No, a ferris wheel!”

The topic changed to sex and puberty. (This was me, teachable moments and all that.) They blushed, we laughed. He asked questions, he stayed on topic. “Girls, ewwwww. I’ll never kiss a girl.” He played, he poked fun at his sister. I looked at him, he smiled back at me. We chatted some more.

I didn’t want it to ever end. We stayed up until nearly midnight. The three of us, on the floor together. Just hanging out. No noises, no stims, no lost in his own world, no mention of Mario OR Luigi.

Then I had to break the spell. “It’s late; time for bed.” Everyone off to bed without a fuss. I kissed his forehead good night.

“I love you, Mommy.” “I love you, too.”

I went to check on his sister. Then all of us off to sleep, at peace.