Since my husband left last year, I have learned that I can fix things.
Not a lot of things.
But a few.
The faucet handle just fell off one day and clanged into the kitchen sink.
I found the part that was broken and called the number on the handle. I ordered a new part and waited for it to arrive. I took out a wrench -- I think it was a wrench -- and a screwdriver, and I got the sucker back on.
OK, so it is wobbly.
But it works.
The light bulb went out in my Sony television.
I got a new one, took the front panel cover off the unit -- again, using a screwdriver -- took out the box with the bulb and slapped that new baby in.
My lawn mower kind of sucks. It is old. Sometimes I have to finagle for minutes in the blazing sun to get it to work. Sometimes I even have to take the little front cover off -- again, with a screw driver -- when I have primed the mower with too much gasoline.
But I get the lawn mowed eventually.
Yes, I can fix a few things.
But not the most important ones.
I cannot fix people.
I cannot place my hands into my son's brain and reconnect the circuits. I cannot redirect all the information buzzing in his brain. I wish I could take the chaos, the cacophony, the lack of clarity and smooth it out.
I wish I could fix the part of him that makes life so difficult for him.
I wish I could fix the part of him that keeps him from understanding how to fully join my world.
I wish I could fix the part of him that blocks the words.
But I can't.
And nobody can.
And it is OK.
It is OK because my son is wonderful.
It is OK because I know that he is happy.
It is OK because there is so much of life that he enjoys -- every time he leaps into a swimming pool, he is at peace. Every time he buckles the belt in a roller coaster car, he is filled with a zest for life that many people never experience. Every time he snuggles with my mother in the love seat in my living room, he knows he is loved.
And every morning, when I lift him from bed (Yes, I still lift him from bed even though he is seven) .... and he wraps his arms tight around my neck and his legs tight around my waist .....
I know how much I am loved.
It is OK because ....
Well, it has to be ....
And because it just is.