I spend my day being screamed at, yelled at.
I’ve told you a thousand times.
How many times do I have to tell you.
Are you blind.
I must do a million things for him each day and whatever I do is usually wrong. I re do it. Somedays it’s a battlefield and he is usually on the other side. His words are sharp. Hugs are few and far between. A simple I love you from him can bring me to tears. It’s rare, but also full of so many different meanings.
Bitten and scrammed.
I can’t control him and it frightens me some times. His emotions too big for him, his ability to communicate his feelings too small. I feel powerless, I can’t reach him. He’s scared. My heart breaks.
But, I am also hidden behind.
I am the one who understands what it means when he strokes my back.
I am the privileged one who knows what the unspoken words mean.
I am the one who understands the different flashes in his eyes.
I am the one who can react without others knowing that there is a problem.
I am both his punch bag and his sanctuary.
I would do anything for him.
He is my 5 year old son.
This is what life with a disabled child looks like.