When I Found Out My Son Had Autism or What Grieving Feels Like

No. No, no, no, no.
My whole world was No for weeks.
No clouded everything. It fell from the sky
like pinheads hitting windshields, it was
a muddy mess of No & I jumped in
every goddamn puddle.
Heavy Boots. Pocket Rocks. Quicksand.
Hefty heart. Two hands squeezing,
fingers between artery & vein.
Tarantula Grip. Snakebite. Indian Burn.

A car alarm in an empty field.
A car alarm in an empty field,

shocking the birds into their nests
to weave a blanket from the feathers
they plucked one by one from their skin

when my heart opens up into a barn
& you are sitting there cross-legged
in the center trying to pluck
words from the air like fireflies.

I am 13 years old trying to pluck
the anxiety out of my over-active
sweat glands, but all of it just gets
stuck in there—

your words, they tremble off your
tongue, they come out buzzing like
street lamp glow lighting the path
to the only window left unlocked
in my heart—

you slam your hands
against the pane of glass
before you climb up on its sill.

You play with the locks,
left-right, left-right, left-right,
you jump down into the gaping hole
spinning, waving your hands like magic wands,
squealing with joy, looking with love,

you loosen the grip,

you drown out the car alarm.

Some people say
that you never really get over the grief,
it’s always there,
pops up like a tornado,
rips open the healing wound
in an instant.

Long Winter. Snow Shovel.
Spring Night. Flowering Field.
Swampland. Drought.
Avalanche. Bulldozers.
Wrecking Ball. Rebuild.
Earthquake. Rebuild.
Hurricane. Rebuild.
Rain. Thunder. Sun. Rainbow.
Rain. Thunder. Sun. Rainbow.
Rain. Thunder. Sun. Son.

My Son.

My heart is a window flung open
& this is what it looks like inside.

Amanda Oaks

Today is World Autism Awareness Day, please educate yourself. <3

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Art is to console those who are broken by life. Vincent van Gogh (via acrylicalchemy)

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I long so much to make beautiful things. But beautiful things require effort—and disappointment and perseverance. Vincent Van Gogh (via nypl)
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“My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage.” - Aunt Frances, “Practical Magic”