I know, in the larger scheme of things, that this is good for both of us. He gets to move fully into independent manhood.
Even though he has not lived with me for the past eighteen years, this is still big for both of us. He has disabilities that make his life difficult. A stroke at age five weeks left him painfully dyslexic and hemiplegic. He walks–gimpily–but doesn’t drive a car. A life-threatening heart defect required open heart surgery at twenty-two months. He suffers from hard-to-treat chronic pain–partly from the effects of the stroke, partly from fibromyalgia. He’s undergone corneal transplants because of a condition called keratoconus, and although his eyesight is serviceable, it’s not great.
He shoulders on, gifted with courage, a dark sense of humor, a flair for writing, and a pull to the non-dual view.
Like every one of us, he is perfectly imperfect. Unique.
My task is to remain present, to notice when the mind wanders into a worried, non-existent future, and to come home.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012