Autistic Son - by Sharon Link
When you learn for the first time
there is a diagnosis
you weep with grief.
You think of all that was
before you and
all that he will miss.
Your joy is expressed in chapters.
I was reading a novel adept at my conviction,
now I am reading a short story
with big words filling the page.
Words seem disjointed
and it is nearly impossible to
make sense of the theme.
The first day, I watched him sleep.
Coming home in the car after the clinic
cuddling with his rubber Iguana.
The next day, I firmly planted
my feet advocating for every right
he is entitled convincing myself that
early intervention is the key.
Perhaps not the well used key
laying on the floor bruised by the
heel of a shoe;
Instead the jagged key with rough
brand new teeth wrenching your stomach
and then your heart.
The week after you begin
the conversation; he reveals himself.
The joy of knowing him convinces you
this was not an accident.
Events are not random.
When you stop mourning
and gauge the wisdom of him
and the breadth of his comments
you begin the process to your own
self discovery and recovery
and all that you thought you had lost
you find again.