Dear Garret,
Papa and I named you after the meaning, "Bold Spear". On this day 14 years ago, you were pulled out from my womb and have been manifesting the boldness of your spirit ever since. Boldness in your willfulness, boldness in your kindness, boldness of your entire being. A spear in every way that every thing you do pierce through the heart of everything living and breathing. That you have autism is no coincidence nor plight. It is what the Universe has gifted us with so you may feel the world more deeply, that you may laugh as if there was no end, weep intensely, work harder than any other human being for skills so nonchalantly appreciated by others, be angry and frustrated immensely, embrace stillness and silence beautifully, but most of all love tremendously.
When I wrote our poem, Pieces, we were in this precariously dark place. You and I both. I still remember very clearly that day it occurred. I remember the beginning like an impending overture of a musical, the middle with our grappling for reason, for sense in its simplest form in this world of ours that seem complicated and at its core, hard, But I remember most of all the end where we ended up in each other's arms, my arms that were already weakened, yours holding on to my body with the strength more than a human being your years and our tears, an immense overflow of liquid on both our cheeks. I had no answers back then to the question, "Why?" as in "Why everything?" I have one now. And it has been here all along, I realized--
Papa and I named you after the meaning, "Bold Spear". On this day 14 years ago, you were pulled out from my womb and have been manifesting the boldness of your spirit ever since. Boldness in your willfulness, boldness in your kindness, boldness of your entire being. A spear in every way that every thing you do pierce through the heart of everything living and breathing. That you have autism is no coincidence nor plight. It is what the Universe has gifted us with so you may feel the world more deeply, that you may laugh as if there was no end, weep intensely, work harder than any other human being for skills so nonchalantly appreciated by others, be angry and frustrated immensely, embrace stillness and silence beautifully, but most of all love tremendously.
When I wrote our poem, Pieces, we were in this precariously dark place. You and I both. I still remember very clearly that day it occurred. I remember the beginning like an impending overture of a musical, the middle with our grappling for reason, for sense in its simplest form in this world of ours that seem complicated and at its core, hard, But I remember most of all the end where we ended up in each other's arms, my arms that were already weakened, yours holding on to my body with the strength more than a human being your years and our tears, an immense overflow of liquid on both our cheeks. I had no answers back then to the question, "Why?" as in "Why everything?" I have one now. And it has been here all along, I realized--
"I have no
answers
But this--
Every piece
of my heart."
So you can have my entire being, my sweetest dearest little prince. Always and until the end of time. And this is the beautiful song of our life. Of your coming to be in this great big Universe.
Now on your 14th year of life, Garret, may you be this bold spear that Papa and I named you after. That you may pierce through every life you come across with in the pureness of your being, in the strength of your willfulness, in the magnanimity of your heart.
Every piece, Garret, every single one,
Mama Bea
