week 7

by willeya

i haven’t been the most exciting mother lately.  i am not sick as much as i am nothing, or a little under nothing.  for three days in a row he’s run around in our backyard finding sticks and hearing airplanes while i lay on a blanket.  today he brought a branch filled with dead leaves and we crinkled them together.  it seems enough for him and i reflect on how he accepts my weak, simple offerings without so much of a thought that i could do better.

going up the stairs on our way to inside he had a meltdown, complete with writhing on the floor and hitting the next available object.  in those moments i often feel a liquid calm flow through my body, like the water you feeling going down after a long time of not drinking.  it’s a tornado in his mind and he needs help keeping things on the floor.  i pick him up, carry him to the rocking chair in his room and sway him there until he can sit while i fix water with a straw and apricot pieces.  he eats it with snot and tears falling in.  when he’s done he looks up at me with swollen eyes and matted hair and says, “all dun nack”. his voice holds the last quiver of the storm.

in these days i walk over my brokenness with bare feet, we throw grace back and forth like the ball that we lost.  he eats cold chicken and pickles four times in a row, without grimace, and i hold onto this miraculous love and place it in my eyes, hands, and voice towards him, no matter what.

ps.  serving cold chicken and caring for atticus is the only thing i am doing these days.  you could pray for my poor husband, that i reserve some for him.

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