So Many Wishes

The dandelions have all turned to fluff, all at once. Last week they were a sea of yellow, a sure sign of spring, and Sage brought home crumpled handfuls of them, a gift I treasure as he is turning eight soon and may be too cool to bring home flowers in his pocket.

The weather is good, so we take the boys to the park. Jude likes to walk along the strip of park near the lake that has trees and a path that leads to the playground, the squishy one we always go to with the butterfly sculptures. He walks bent at the waist, swinging his arm in his own little happy world, which is okay for the moment. Eden is kicking happily in the stroller, and I am feeling good, better than I have all week.

It has been a week of tantrums, of Jude throwing things, of us trying to be firm and giving Jude ‘limits’, and teach him to adjust to the world, because I have fooled him, tricked him into thinking the world will adjust to him. I have run ahead of him, fixing, fussing, explaining, his whole life, to make sure he is never frightened or misunderstood. Now I am changing the rules, resigning as sherpa, forcing him to be less rigid and trying to believe it is the right thing to do. I feel mean and like a failure, and I hate making Jude act like everyone else.

I know it is pure selfishness on my part; Jude has a chance at a normal life. The trouble is I like him how he is, all secretive and mumbly and magical. But I won’t be here when he is fifty three to tie his shoes and interpret him to the world.

I stop and pick a silvery dandelion and show it to Jude and Eden. Look, these are wishes, I say and blow on one. Eden giggles as the seeds float away, but Jude tries to grab them. Come back wishes... he calls. Come back!!

It’s okay, I tell him, there are lots more wishes, look! I say, and there are, whole fields of them on the way to the park, but Jude is sad, and I can'’t make him understand.

Jude’s social worker calls me ‘invested.’ I am invested, to the point of disappearing. I live and breathe him, and when he is frantic, furious, screaming, throwing things, beside himself without words to ask for help, I feel I am drowning, silently sinking to the bottom of a murky pond, too overwhelmed to make a sound.

I wish I could step back, just a little. I wish the world was such that Jude could dance through it and be appreciated and understood. I wish I was better at this.

I wish he could tell me why he is so afraid. I wish I could make it go away.

The next day I am on the school bus waiting for Jude to come out of school. I must ride home with him because he is suddenly, inexplicably terrified of the bus. I watch as Jude is carried to the bus, flailing and screaming, and he arrives and sits in my lap, sweating and exhausted and gulping for air. The driver turns towards home, moving along the lakefront, and the wind is blowing and dandelion seeds are everywhere, floating around the bus and past the windows. Look at all the wishes, Jude says, with his forehead pressed against the glass.

Yeah, I say. So many wishes.