I was browsing Facebook at 2am. Kiddo had been awake since midnight, again. He insisted I sleep in his bed with him and since I couldn’t doze off through the sharp kicks into my ribs (shouldn’t that end with pregnancy?) I thought I may as well attempt to connect with the outside world.
As I flicked through the colourful passing snaps of everyone’s day, I came across some of you. You looked so happy, and it warmed my heart, it truly did. In some, you were with people I did not recognise, your life had moved on as had mine. There were families, children, holidays galore. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealously; you have a freedom that I do not. Still, I wouldn’t give up my world for anything, not even to cease the karate kicks now targeting my back.
Then I saw it. A different photo. A group of you I knew from so long ago, a sea of elated smiles and joy, all delighted to be in each other’s company. And it brought a tear to my eye. In fact, it brought several. Because only a few years ago I belonged in that photo. I was there, smiling without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the path the universe had planned for me.
I can only imagine what you felt when I stopped replying to your messages — stopped making the effort to see you in person. But when autism entered my world, everything I had ever known changed, and in that hurricane of chaos you were lost. But it was me who lost you, and for that I am sorry. You may or may not have children of your own now, but when you do, they are your everything. Your world. Your priority. Kiddo needs me until he is old enough to flourish and fly. But until that day, my life is consumed by his needs, and I firmly believe that’s the way it should be.
Perhaps you will be patient and one day welcome me back into your life? I can only hope.