The Rest of His Life

 It's 10:21. His bedtime is 9:00. Somehow it takes forever . Every night. Every. Night. It starts with a shower. He's 10 years old. I sit on the toilet while he's in the tub. I close the shower curtain to give him some privacy, but i"m still in the room with him. Do I have to be? Technically, no. But if I don't, then he doesn't actually wash. Tonight I washed his hair for him and dried him off. Sometimes, being autistic means that by the end of the day he doesn't have it left in his tank to do all the steps of a bath. And deodorant. And brush his teeth. And take off his contacts.  We pick up his books, make his bed tidy, put away his dirty laundry,  . . . the list goes on. Every night it takes an eternity. but finally he is clean, fresh, calm and happy. His room is neat and tidy, his things where they belong. We spend a few minutes talking, we tell stories, and talk about tomorrow. It always ends with a hug and a promise to 'see you tomorrow, Mommy....

 I'm sitting in a hotel room in beautiful, sunny California. I'm here doing a job I truly love where I have worked hard for the last 10 years to reach a role that is a perfect fit for me. This is my first solo show as a senior admin. I should be proud, excited, joyous,  . . . something. Instead I'm sitting awake missing a little boy halfway across the country and wishing I had been there to tuck him into bed. I hugged him goodbye this morning after therapy and lunch. He told me to have a fun trip. I left his freshly charged nightlight by the stairs. I did his laundry, put his meds in the holder, made sure his room was clean, and tried to do everything in my power to make sure he has a great weekend. He's in good hands. My husband is home with him and my middle daughter has been helping with bedtime this week. i'm not actually worried about his health, his safety, or him having fun. I just miss him. I miss the closeness we shared over the past few weeks spending ever...