Silent Prayers

Can I be brutally honest?

I had a rough day yesterday.  I watched Dr. Phil--which was utterly stupid--and it freaked me out.  I'll spare you the details, but the fourteen-year-old featured was severally autistic and aggressive.  She was horrifically violent.  She would beat her mother unconscious.  

It was devastating to watch and I cried through the whole show.  I cried for the mother--now in prison--and for the pain and desperation she suffered.  I cried for the hopelessness she felt; a bleakness that smothered her, that led her to unspeakable actions.  I cried for her whole family, and for the fourteen-year-old's siblings who were frequently hurt by her rage.  I cried for this damn disorder--so diverse, so complex, so mysterious in nature.

And then I crept into Cam's room while he napped.  

I cried for him too--my beautiful, peacefully sleeping boy.  I put my hand on his face and said a silent prayer.  I asked God to make me brave.  I asked Him to make me strong--to give me the courage to face the unknown road that lies ahead.  I asked Him to stay with me.  To stay by my side, always.

I know that that family is not my family, and their experience is not my experience.  I know we are different.  But I also know that I can't know everything.  I don't know what the future offers us, or what our ASD journey holds.  I just know I have great faith.  I know I love my son. 

I know that love is everything.


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