Stay
The restaurant is busy. Small, globe-shaped fixtures hang above each table.
My oldest son.
A whirlwind three days has brought us to your city for your college graduation.
At twenty-three, you are still so very young, yet in our conversation I hear you begin to ponder life as an adult.
Renting an apartment, a career, the task of finding an eye doctor, .
Over dinner, you and your father banter about politics. Taxes. The promise of the Buffalo Bills next year.
I listen.
I think about how little you’ve needed me since we dropped you off here freshmen year. My heart ached that day we drove away, the city of brotherly love disappearing in the rearview mirror.
You were determined to handle college on your own, much like you’ve handled everything else in your life.
How quickly you took flight.
Did I let you go too easily?
This is the answer I ask myself lately.
Did I do it all wrong?
Our house once bustled. Five kids around the table at night. Sick days with soup and movies.
Now, the rooms are quiet.
One by one, you begin to scatter far and wide - our family a constellation across the map.
Motherhood.
We buy cough medicine. We spoon broth into white bowls. We long for bedtime, then regret the moments we wished away.
We build a home, only for everyone to leave.
My son.
So much is unspoken between us.
In another city hundreds of miles away, your brother is thriving in his very own way.
Autism.
It’s too much for someone of your age to think about, yet here we are.
A phenomenon without borders, without reverence.
On other words, it doesn’t care about older brothers who will one day take care of younger brothers.
Take care of him.
These are four words I can’t bring myself to repeat out loud.
Not here, in this lovely restaurant with the candles and the cloth napkins.
He’ll be provided for financially. He’ll have a place to live. You won’t have to worry about that.
He won’t rely on you. But he will need you.
It’s the little things I worry about most.
Respond to his texts in the group chats.
Don’t let him spend Christmas alone.
Send him gift cards for his birthday.
Call him. Listen to him.
In other words, do all the things you already do.
The server clears our empty dishes. Crumbs litter the tablecloth. The conversation has turned to your new job in finance, the
The check comes.
We pay.
We get up from our seats. We walk toward the door.
Stay.
This is what I long to say.
Stay here, beneath the circles of light.
Stay, and tell me everything.
But we can’t.
It’s time to go.
We walk outside.
I squint to the sky.
I can’t see the stars. But I know they are there.
Sometimes, this is enough.
It has to be enough.
“What is the difference between guardianship and power of attorney? How do I know if I need it for my diagnosed child?”