Ramblings From The Heart

It is a lazy Sunday morning and I am trying to keep things low-key. My husband, who almost never drinks alcohol, was out with friends last night, and he has a bit of a hangover that he is sleeping off. My younger son is watching TV and my older son is playing on his computer beside me. I am sipping coffee and seeing if anything interesting has been happening on Facebook while I’ve been sleeping.

It’s pleasantly peaceful. I feel as if all of the pieces of my life are in harmony.

My older son abandons his computer game and comes to stand beside me. He is tall for his age, one of those long lanky kids whose pants never seem to be long enough. I regard this child of mine, this beautiful boy with autism who some higher power has deemed me worthy to parent.

In his sweet, lyrical voice and odd way of speaking, he says, “Go give Mommy a hug.”

I hold out my arms and he clambers into my lap – something that I am going to treasure while he is still just not-too-big to do so. He wraps his arms around my neck, kisses me lightly on my hair, and rests his head on my shoulder. Although neither of us is saying a word, the communication between us is profound and special. Our world of two feels complete.

I am intensely aware of the weight of responsibility. As I hold my child in my arms, I feel as if I am holding his future. Everything I do counts: every word, every gesture, every action. All of the mistakes I make – and in parenting, there are bound to be some – can cause some erosion, some little breakdown somewhere in my child’s character. But all of the things I do right can build him up. I visualize this moment that I am sharing with him right now. I imagine it adding another layer to his confidence and sense of emotional well-being.

Although this beautiful moment will soon be over – already, I am starting to sense my son getting ready to move on to the next part of his day – its effects will last forever.

Sometimes, as I think about the immense role that I have in creating positive, productive and happy lives for my children, a part of me – the part ruled by self-doubt – asks, “Can I really do this? Am I worthy of having such responsibility for two human beings?”

And at moments like this, as my son gets off my lap and goes off in pursuit of some adventure that only he knows about, I can hear the Universe whisper back to me.

“Yes, you can do this. And yes, you are worthy.”

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)