2009 Please End

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.