A deep, searing breath
a retching cough
rub my eyes
tuck a curl behind my ear
wipe the hot tears off my cheeks
3 faces swimming in my living room
telling me my youngest needs further assesment for Autism
I scoop up my son
I offer them coffee and fudge
he sings Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star into my ear
I squeeze him and rock him
I glance at the clock
one face asks me if I need to leave to pick up my other kids
I say no we have 30 minutes
He laughs, looks at his colleagues and says, "We rocked this.".
Another face grimaces and asks me if I have questions.
Yes.
Can you be wrong?
Can somebody else with more letters behind their surname
deliver better news?
And once my child suceeds beyond all expectations
can his records be sealed so nobody can ever label him?
I need to go to bed,
I need to drive,
I need to drink,
I need to go to the beach and feel the sand beneath my toes,
I need the sound of the surf in my ears,
I need the cold wind to bring fresh tears to my eyes.
I need to yell,
I need to kick,
I need to hit,
And I can't.
I am a mother
and I have to maintain.
I have to smile.
I have to love.
Jump through hoops.
I need help.
