I See You

I see you, friend. You, with the first day of school pictures you weren’t quite sure you wanted to share. Because your child’s photos look different, because it’s complicated, because you don’t really want to explain, or have anyone feel sorry for you. Because someone’s missing. Because everything is a mess.

I see you, mama, with the teenage boy who rarely smiles for the camera (but oh! how he grinned on the Tilt o’whirl in the heat of July). I see you standing in your slippers in the humid September morning, waiting on the porch for the bus to come to the house. I see you kiss his forehead with worry, wondering what high school is like for a boy with autism who can not talk, who does not like noise, who has no friends.

I see you, on the morning of the first day of school, crying at your desk. You, with the daughter who just went away to college. You, with the house that billows with an unfamiliar emptiness—down the halls and into the kitchen, where the dining room table sits alone, unattended.

I see you, dad. A pale white circle where your wedding ring used to be, the first morning in 14 years you’re not standing with them at the bus stop. Sitting in your car, stopped at a traffic light, heavy in your heart. You are hoping so hard that she will send you a photo of the kids, dressed in brand new shoes on the front step of the house where you once used to live.

This year, on the first day of school, maybe things are a little different for you or maybe this is a new normal. Maybe, because of disability, or loss, or hardship, you’ve always felt a little bit on the outside, looking in.

Where you are right now is exactly where you are supposed to be, even if your photo is different than the others you see. You are holding your piece of the world together. That takes courage, that takes strength. It isn’t always beautiful, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be messy and hard---and it can still be right.

If you feel separate today, or a little closer to the edge, just know that I still see you. If you are cast away, in a blue-green sea of change and feeling invisible. If you are raising your hand, just calling out to be noticed, to know that someone hears you. I hear you.

The back to school photo at your house--or in your head-- it isn’t less, just because it's different. You are not alone, you are not an island. How could you be?

There you are, resilient, loving, and strong. I see you.