The Gift of Grief

As I was doing laundry this afternoon, I caught a glimpse of Garret swinging on the hammock while listening to his music on his portable Bluetooth speaker pressed and Morgan playing happily with his water hose. They're teenagers who have autism. Unlike other neurotypical teenagers who probably are with their friends on a weekend doing whatever it is that teenagers do nowadays, this is what they do.

A friend told me recently how somehow them having autism was like never having to lose our babies. As they will always be in a way child-like forever. In a way this is a blessing. In another, it is a kind of grieving, one that churns my insides every now and then as thoughts of what might have been invade my day. I grieve that they could never have a life of their own, meet the love of their life, start a family, make memories and so forth. I grieve that I will never have grandchildren. A few years ago, I wrote about this briefly and said that I don't know what it means. Now, I have a somewhat clearer grasp of what it means. I grieve for the idea that my blood line ends with them. My existence ends with them. I grieve for my existence. I grieve for the idea that my boys will never get to tell the story of their mama. I grieve for the absolute, definitive impermanence of myself. It may sound a bit too selfish, vain or egotistical. And I'm not going to shame myself because of it. I am human. Ego is part of it. I would simply be lying if I told myself I don't have it.

And then, I realize how a kind of resolution emerges, a sudden flash of light on this dark and somber truth- I better make the most of what is my life now then. To love better, more deeply family and friends. To do what I truly love-- writing, poetry, to name some. To do what serves my spirit and release what I no longer need. Day by day. Hour by hour. Breath by breath. So that as I live, I will be the one to tell the story of myself.

I looked at my boys this afternoon in between wringing out the laundry and hanging it on the clothesline as they were peacefully in their own world, Garret swinging on his hammock with his music and Morgan with his water hose, unlike other normal teenagers and felt this inner knowing that they are the very epitome of what Life truly is-- the full spectrum of being human in their own beautiful, unique way--both gifts of blessing and gifts of grief. And I their mama, the grateful, humbled recipient of it. Grief, after all only makes us more human. And isn't this human life, as much as it is a given, also a gift? 

You've got to go to the dark place your own way so you can bring the light there."                                                                                                             -Will Reeve, On Grief

 I took this photo on an early morning by the seashore of Visayas State University, Baybay City, Leyte. I loved how the morning sun shone through the trees illuminating them.