“Where’s your husband?”
It’s a question that comes my way whenever I disclose a hard moment with our Amos.
It’s me that hauls and cajoles and threatens and tries to interpret what he needs.
He wants me, the person that knows him better than anyone.
I imagine I am his safe place.
And so, I share what it’s like to be a mom of a little boy with special needs, but I don’t share what it’s like for my husband.
That’s his story and only he can tell it.
I will tell you though that he’s in the shadows of my story.
He’s cleaning up the kitchen.
He’s taking someone to the playground on a rainy dark night in hopes that the swing soothes him.
He’s my punching bag for words and yet, when I apologize, he is quick to say there’s no need and he means it.
He’s my other half and really, the only other person on this earth that simultaneously loves Amos like I do and understands the heart ache, frustration and helplessness that travels with meeting his needs.
Last night, I was done and I told him- “I just can’t do this any more, I may hurt him.”
He didn’t look at me with pity or anger or annoyance.
No, he said, “I’ve been there, too.”
Where’s my husband?
He’s right here, cheering me along, sharing the joyful moments and the hard as hell ones.