An Ember in the Night

  Today we found ourselves looking out upon the Baptism River. Along its banks, cedar trees clung to the mottled rock with twisted roots. Below, the water was dark as obsidian and smooth as satin, its surface a mirror of loveliness. Were we to fall in, it would swiftly swallow us into its blackness. Nature has a way of reminding us of this simple truth; that life and death are entwined, and we cannot have one without the other. The last leaves of Autumn fluttered from branches and their saffron hues glowed radiant amidst the beams of sunlight, as if to declare in their dying breaths that they had seen the light and that Heaven was indeed prepared to welcome them into another life. I don't believe in Heaven, but I believe in the wonder of all that exists in this world. I believe in its ceaseless beauty, and I feel a sense of awe, knowing that we are each a part of that. When I die, the water that flows through my veins will become the rain. From the rain, trees will grow, filling th...

These days, there are many people who celebrate their Autism diagnoses.  Some of them even use it as an excuse to indulge in cake. I think that's lovely, but it wasn't like that for me. By the time I was formally diagnosed at 39, it almost didn't matter.  I already knew.  I think maybe some piece of me had known for years, though, for too long I tried to push the idea away.  It scared me.  I just wanted to be normal, but after decades of trying and failing it became clear that I never would be, and I was destroying myself trying. People ask, "Why does everyone want to be Autistic now?"  I never wanted this, but, it's a relief to stop pretending I'm not, even if only sometimes.  I wish I could say that everything was magically all sunshine and rainbows after diagnosis.  Things have been better, but the path to healing isn't as straightforward as that.  It's filled with ups and downs.  Processing is hard and often painful work. There is ...

I recently attended my son's high school graduation ceremony.  Before entering the auditorium, we were handed a brochure with the names of all the graduates listed in alphabetical order.  I quickly found my son's name, and beside it, asterisks to denote he has achieved highest academic distinction.  I felt a wave of pride well up in my chest before pushing it down.  Pride, I told myself, is toxic.  At this point in my life, I understand that. The ceremony was beautiful.  The speakers, who I honestly expected to bore me with cliches and platitudes, instead reached into my soul with the power of their words.  And yet, my heart ached.  No doubt many parents find graduation events to be emotional. In some ways, they mark the end of childhood and redefine our role as parents.  Yet, I know that reality isn't so clear cut.  His transition out of childhood began long ago, and it has yet to end.  I felt that pain wash over me and roll away....

There are periods in life that open new windows into our souls and into the hearts and minds of people around us.  This political era is one of them.  We are each being asked to hold the people we are up against the people we strive to be. Am I alone in admitting that I'm failing to rise to my own aspirations? I'm aware that people have long viewed me as being "too much." I leave people exasperated with my intense reactions. I drive myself into bouts of anxiety and depression and angst. I have suffered quite a lot because of my inability to regulate my emotions. And yet, I told myself that in the right place and the right time, my emotional intensity could be valuable. I was passionate. I cared deeply about things. I would stand for justice, even when many others were happy to look away. The world needed people like me. But I don't know if I believe that anymore. It turns out, what the world needs is effective communicators. People who can meet others where they...

    How can I possibly express a grief that it so many different things?  That shifts form from day to day, sometimes from moment to moment?   In the beginning there are so many tears.   I sob and sob and sob.   When my sinuses began to burn in pain I will myself to stop, only to start again.     I wish my heart would fail.   I read that this can happen sometimes in grief, but it’s rare, and rarer still that it would kill someone.   So I imagine taking things into my own hands.   I picture the blood flowing out from my wrist and the pain departing my body with it.   I fantasize that a progressive sense of calm might envelop me, casting all awareness away until there is nothing.   Is that how it feels?   I look it up.   Google says it is an excruciatingly painful way too die.   I shut my laptop and curl up into a tight ball, as if to protect my body from myself.   I can’t take the thought of mo...

  I often find myself stumbling back into this place of confusion.   There is a despair that comes with seeing your traits labeled as “deficits”.   Your very way of thinking “disordered”.   With knowing that society is eager to know what causes people to think and feel and process the world as you do, and to prevent this from happening.   To cure you.   To make you like them.   There is an othering in all of this.   In being called “special” when you know what they mean is that it’s too shameful to even name you as you are.   To be told that you are not Autistic, you simply have Autism.   You are still first and foremost a person.   As if anyone else needs to be reminded that they are a person.   There is sadness and anger that comes as a parent when these same attitudes are projected towards your children, as if the so called “normal” children are preferable to your own.   As if yours is deficient.   As if yo...