The other day, I sat at home and sobbed for the first time in a long time (well, a long time for me). I cried over the loss of a friendship, over knowing that my friend had been more important to me than I ever was to her.
I cried for the future friendships that would be colored by the incompatibility of my child with other children.
I cried for my old life, my pre-mommy life, my wonderful, selfish, career-oriented world in which the drama had nothing to do with autism.
I cried with resentment for my own son.
I cried for resenting him.
And then I heard a little voice from across the room: "Mommy, no, stop crying. Mommy, stop crying, pwease."
And of course, you know how I reacted to that.
Tears of joy.