Biodegradeable? Of course they are

Jude is easy to entertain. A big, clear shimmery garbage bag and a little wind and he is happy, so happy. So am I.

Most days I bring several with me out to the playard next to our building. Jude watches me hold it up to let the wind inflate the thing and he flaps madly, hardly able to contain himself. I tie it and hand it over and he flings it up into the air and dances with sheer exctasy as it flits and floats in the wind. It is like a ballet, my son and his big plastic pet.

Sometimes it floats way, way up, higher than our 10 story high rise, so far up until I am sure the planes coming into O'Hare are in jeopardy, and Jude is overcome with delight and anxiety, everyone in the yard is looking up, will it come back? If it falls on the playground equipment where Jude can't reach the big boys playing basketball get it and bring it to Jude.

Sometimes it floats over the wall, into the busy street, and brakes squeal and horns honk. I can't imagine what some poor cab driver thinks, a big clear shiny orb floating past his windshield. I picture him smiling admiringly and going home to be nicer to his children.

My friend Joy told me her favorite thing to do was to watch Jude and his big clear balloon bags,
and one morning she woke up, half dreaming about them. When she went to open her shade, there was a big one, blown onto the ledge outside her window, stuck there, waiting for her.

Jude used to cry when they flew away, grief stricken, and was not comforted by the handful of extras I kept in the stroller. He would scream the way he did when we left the room or said good night. His brain couldn't recreate the picture of what he loved, so when he couldn't see it, it ceased to exist. Garbage bags, his toy train, his mother. Gone.

One day a bag made its escape and I picked Jude up in tight squeeze. He looked at me and said,
"That's okay, it will fly in the sky with the clouds."

That's right, I said, amazed. Jude came in for dinner, without a fuss. Big clear industrial size trash bags are teaching my son about life. Joy, beauty in ordinary things. Letting go.

When I close my eyes at night, I think of them out there, floating on the wind like dandelion seeds, darting and swooping, flirting with the wind, happy and dancing with the clouds. They are big crackly plastic wishes and dreams, and they never disappear. They go on forever.

Places to go, someone to see

Julian stopped in to see us. He couldn't stay long, he had somewhere else to be, and we understand, we really do, but we are sad, too, we love him, and we wanted just a little more time.

We will have to be brave, and patient, and wait until we are all together in that place where there is enough time for everything, and we will not have to cling quite so tightly, because we will never, ever have to be apart again.

God speed, little man. See you soon.

Push

I can't do this. I changed my mind. It's too far, he will be scared, I don't care how nice they are, he's just a baby, he can stay home for another year.

I fought for Jude to get into this school. It is nationally known, built for kids like him. It is far, though, all the way to the forest preserves at the edge of the city. On the edge of the world.

Jude's last school was so small he knew the cook by name, sixteen kids all together. Such a gentle place. They never asked anything of Jude except to let them love him. Which was hard enough.

This new place is Jude's best chance at independence. So I will send him, crying if need be. I will stand on the sidewalk waving at the bus, watching it disappear, on its way to the end of the earth, without me.

Come on, you can do this. One big push, I know it hurts but you can do it. Close your eyes. Deep breath. Push.