I’m not that parent.
The one that says if I could,
I wouldn’t change a thing.
I would hand wrap and deliver him his words.
Every single noun, metaphor, and verb.
Adjectives and pronouns would replace the sounds of frustration.
I would give my soul to hear him speak somewhere other than my dreams.
It is so clear there.
I would give my life to free him from the prison of sensory overload.
I would rewind the hands of time before epilepsy showed up.
I pray for his forgiveness for the days I may have restrained him too long or too hard.
Forgive me for having to pull you from the car in the rain. I wanted to keep you safe.
Forgive me for taking to long to figure out you couldn’t breath when the hospital insisted on sending you home.
Forgive me for cursing the creator for laying this burden at your feet.
I walk a thin line between faith and fear.
I am grateful She knows my heart.
forgive me for wanting to give up.
Somedays it felt easier to literally let go and let God.
Then I remember that you never feel sorry for yourself. We fight through meltdowns and you never hold a grudge.
People constantly speak for you not knowing what you really want. Even then you smile.
I am waiting for the day your sarcastic look turns into a full on “F$ck that!”
Your mom is totally here for it.
You got that sailor in you honestly.
Thank you for forcing me to find myself.
The more of her I find the more of you I see.
Thank you for bending me until I was flexible.
Somehow you knew I wouldn’t break.
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