Tenderness
It is a beautiful day. The sun is out. The boys had a good night's sleep, a respite from autism's many teenage mysteries. I bring the boys out to the garden for our routine sun soak. Garret listens to his music on my phone. Morgan sits quietly on the camp chair his papa has brought out. I do gentle mindful movements and breathing, the only thing I can do for now with my injured foot. Soon after I settled down from my movement and meditation, I sat and let thoughts run through my mind. The night Mom was laid to rest, an orange ladybug landed on my leg. I was an island away. I was in our dining room. I was waiting for the video call from my family once they reached the cemetery. It was hard lockdown. I couldn't be with them. I couldn't be with Mom. This is probably the hardest, most painful memory I have carried and will ever carry in my life. The load does not get lighter, it seems on most days. Other days, I am able to forgive the world, everything, myself. And then