I scream and rage into the void-
In this eternal black box, I wail until breathless.
It is endless night, no sun to shine on my despair.
Will I always have to choose to hold him back?
Will his intelligence wain because his acceptance of social structure is weak?
My son, the brilliant one, will he ever fit in and accept and adapt and be able to convey his amazing intelligence and awesome personality in a manner that others will see- other than me. Or will people always, always see the odd one; the behavior problem; the socially inept one; the screamer; the crier; the rough child?
"Don't worry," I hear. "We all have scars. That's what life is about. Just try to choose the best scars you can and keep them to a minimum. That's your job as a mom. God will help him- He'll make a round space in this square world for him."
There is a pin prick of light in my midnight box.
I look towards it, walk, and hope.