doesn’t seem like much to ask
of the broad expanse of time
80 years
that’s all i need
to make sure
my sons are taken care of
for the remainder of their lives
what is my mothering heart to do
knowing
i won’t get it
Tag: Autism
Categories
Spring Play
I thought
I understood what
love
truth
and beauty
were
until I saw the smile
beam from the face
of my son
taking
his leading role bows
before the applauding theatre
as he realized
he had just achieved
something
he never thought possible
the one thing i know
how to build with my hands
i learned in eighth grade industrial arts
if you give me raw wood
a table saw with a router
a miter saw
a bit of wood glue
a plane sander
clear varnish
i will build for you
a beautiful little beveled edge box
with brass hinges
and a hasp lock
but this day
i intend to construct one
for myself
designed for securely containing
three things
this poem
the straw that broke the camel’s back
and my suicide
you see
my soul died this morning
i gave up
but i am a mother with autistic
18 year old twin sons
who loves them enough
to allow her heart to continue to beat
i love them enough to remain alive
i know to do this
because my father didn’t
i love them enough to keep blood
in these arms that hold them
when they are screaming and crying
and blaming me for giving them autism
by virtue of my having been the one
who gave birth
telling them
son
if we can
just survive the hormonal high school years
everything will be alright
one of them hides his asperger’s from everyone
at school in a futile attempt to fit in
but he’s only hiding the words
the label of autism
his actions let people know he’s not typical
so when he stares too long
or has a face void of expression
they just think he’s a creepy jerk
so he keeps getting in trouble
because he won’t say
“i have asperger’s don’t take it the wrong way,
i don’t mean any harm”
because he says
“i would rather be called
an asshole
than a retard”
the other one
is resistant to everything
but eating and sleeping
rules are what you break
when mom isn’t looking
he thinks
so long as he says the right words
to her face
no matter if it breaks her heart
because there is no synapse that fires
between his behavior
and the consequences thereof
this morning i realized
i am attempting to drink the ocean
pissing into the wind
nothing i do
will ever be enough
but i do not have the option of giving up
i have to keep banging my head into these walls
until i am bloody
as this is my lot
this little wooden box i shall build
emblematic
of my pledge to go on with my life
to continue to fight
these words contained within it
are my coping mechanism
because in my zombie heart
i know
it is better
than my entire body
being placed into
into a finely crafted
pine box
when both of my sons
are raising hell on a
full moon afternoon
compulsively
raging at me about
a teenage heartbreak
call home from the principal
or the fact that i made good on the promise
if you don’t clean your room
i will
my mind swims to sacred waters
evoking the image
of my twin baby boys
at age two
little pot bellies
in yellow terry
paddington bear sleepers
clinging to their lovies
through tears
because mommy had to go to work
to remind myself
this is why i am in the fight
this is my life
i was given this task
because i am capable
enough to tackle it
and survive
knowing
every parent who battles
nature
society
and god or the lack thereof
for the sake of their spectrum child
and still manages to make miracles happen
everyday
(capable of understanding
buttoning a shirt properly
can qualify as a miracle)
that parent
is the patron saint of autism
this year will be a power struggle
with your child
as you attempt to balance
their need for independence
with their complete disconnect
from reality
and total lack of understanding with regards
to acceptable behaviors
responsibility
and consequences
you will spend much of this year
being screamed at
wishing you were dead
and envying empty nesters
explaining things like
showers must be taken daily
you can’t wipe your shit on bath towels
or wipe cum on the floor
all whilst trying to instill
that being a person on the autism spectrum
doesn’t give one a free pass
to be an abusive asshole to others
or one’s environment
oh
let’s not forget the guilt
you’ve carried around
from the day of your child’s diagnosis
was it the vaccinations
something you should have eaten
or didn’t eat while you were pregnant?
did you do this to them?
why were your children condemned?
yes
that reliable old friend will still be there
to keep you warm and reeling at night
a gnawing cancer in your gut
until the day
you end
stay positive
that’s only
30 or 40 years away
friend
having twin teenagers with autism
is and will be
the greatest challenge of my life
if i survive this
i can whip anything
see
there are days when it’s hard to tell
who is screaming at you
the autism
or the 18 year old asshole
their teeth come out
bile and vomit spray the walls
over being asked to pick up their dirty socks
it is then i remember there is a tall bridge
perfect for giving up
right down the road from my house
and i think of what would happen
in my horrid wake
the abusive father the only one left
to care for them
the equivalent of throwing them to the wolves
romulus and remus made flesh
death is just another luxury a single mother can’t afford
besides
not loving them enough to stay alive…
that isn’t me
that’s what my father would do
he is able memorize
everything he is interested in reading
he can tell you upon what page
frankenstein’s monster came alive
in the storybook when he was seven
he has never forgotten
one word ever uttered near or to him
he has a mental list of every real and perceived
slight or transgression
ever committed against him
yet at 18 he cannot remember
to clip his fingernails or bathe
without being told
he will not clean his room
fold or hang his laundry properly
he is my son
i am his mother
we have autism
and our life together is a perpetual struggle
over mustard stains
first day at the bus stop
for twin boys becoming gentlemen
their third year of high school
nearing six feet tall
in size 10 shoes
black linen shirts
jeans with chains
lookin’ like punk tony sopranos
packin’ pens, pencils, and graphing calculators
when i consider the dark years
the doctors
the tests
the poking
prodding
psycho dissections
the concept of a dysfunctional spectrum
and the word autism
i look to the sky
where whomever is supposed
to be running this shit show
is failing at their job
and i say fuck you
fuck you life
and all the hell you had planned
have a look at my beautiful boys
beating the odds
that’s right, tough guy
watch my sons rise
we sat on the couch
beneath an original bukowski painting
beside a bronze bust of the dirty man
smoking legal chap books
listening to hot water music
drinking ancient scotch
discussing
the proximity
of kentucky to tennessee
poetry bombs
fell from the sky
as the king revealed his affliction
a rareness we share
one we have both passed on to our sons
our naivete
vulnerabilities
mechanical worlds
tin voices
the weight of meaningless gold
we wept into words
remembering
missing lovers
fathers and librarians
thai food
hugs
offers of shelter and safe harbor
given with
a father’s worried come-home-soon eyes
as we walked onto the patio
to say goodnight to the hollywood sign
and tuck in
the xenias and tomatoes
you cut your hand
wrote your words with
blood red
inside the bible
you had long ago given me
“All criminals are outlaws, but not all outlaws are criminals.”
that’s when i realized
you were the most beautiful thing
about california