Riley walks in carrying her hairbrush in one hand. She’s still in pajamas–soft black, printed with dozens of unblinking owls keeping watch. Her plump, bare feet lightly thwick against the linoleum. She finds me half-together, though to say that can be misleading, since I am never really all put together. Every morning I dress in […]

Christmas Steve began years ago, merely a quip in response to Riley’s running Advent countdown. “Just 8 more days until Christmas,” she will say, standing at attention beside the white board, holding her dry erase marker like a wand, shaking it in the air for emphasis.  Riley considers calendar-keeping critical to her sanity, and at […]

In the black stillness of morning, I groan, thrusting my toes out into the cold that has settled on the room.  I have no choice but to get up, so I throw off the covers and slide out of bed, meandering around the Christmas tree to feel for the plug.  Let there be light.  I gaze […]

Rushing out of one appointment and late to another, I discover the text: Riley had a seizure. And in one second flat, I feel as though some vile bully just ran by and pushed me off my careful balance, and that even with my angry, road-scratched palms, I am somehow responsible for the world.  Alone.  […]

From my office, I heard their voices, the soft, deep rumble of Father training son. “Do you still need Lantus?” Kevin asked Adam, who grunted over the forced pause.  What is it about us that we resent the time it takes to grow? Lantus is to long-release insulin what Kleenex is to tissue, merely a […]

I hear her through the wall, the rhythmic way she flicks the light switch on off on off on off. “Okay.  Okie dokie,” I hear her say.  “Okay.  Okie dokie.  Okay, and yes, I the lights are off.” I hear the thwoosh of a tissue jerked from the tissue box so purposefully that the decorative acrylic cover […]

Saturday morning, Adam walks downstairs wearing his football jersey, which is blue like the crisp Fall sky, blue like his eyes.  I say walk, but his steps have a certain bounce that matches his wide smile. Maybe autism steals away my son’s words, but Adam’s body has always found its own ways to convey what […]

I hear my son before I see him.  I know by heart the specific sound of his long, flat feet on the hardwood floor at the base of the stairs; I know the circuitous, spinning route he takes from one room to another, checking for me, checking for signs that nothing unexpected has altered the […]

Caught up in the morning whoosh, I rush to the car, balancing my bag, my water, my phone.  I call out the usual things, looking forward but tossing the words behind me, a list of rapid-fire questions each beginning with “Do you have your….”  Adam walks out close behind me, lightly slinging his backpack over […]

When finally God begins to move me and I carry our quiet conversation back into busier thoroughfares, I find Adam emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen.  He stacks plates and tosses clean silverware into the drawer with percussive clatter, and this with the morning barely an hour old.  The coffee pot still gasps and sputters […]