Butterflies At Rest

[image error] My son bounces in his seat, on his toes, in his body. I watch him. Study every cause and effect. My mind fires off theories, bright shooting stars of hope. He quotes his shows and computer games. He laughs at the funniest jokes only he hears. He smiles so big my heart swells and breaks at the same time. He struggles with noise, but is a generator of tremendous sound, high-pitched, rising and falling volumes so quick those around him shake their heads and peddle their feet in the opposite direction. He'd like to put his brother in a padded room with a lock on the door only he has the key to. He has a vision of his world with heroes, weapons, weather gods, his mom. I'm so important to him when you ask, "Will, what do you want to do when you grow up?" He says every time "Help my mom." I try to reach him always. I fail often. He's struggling with the change I'm bringing to his world and I think he's pissed. I told him he can be as mad at me as he wants. "Oh yeah. Okay, Mom."





(By Nieminen Gene, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)