I burst into tears at the grocery store this morning.
I was wheeling down an aisle chattering happily to Graham who was munching a free cookie from the bakery when I heard a strange sound.
It was a hooting sound, like an owl makes. Except it wasn’t an owl, it was a little boy.
He was about seven, eight maybe and, I assume, autistic. He was handsome, He was hooting wildly and flapping his arms while his mother tried to hold him and rubbed his back, speaking to him in soothing terms.
And people were looking at them, or rather, trying not to look at them. And Graham lost all interest in his cookie and his eyes grew wide, out of curiosity, but not fear. And as we got closer I saw her face.
Oh, her face.
She looked tired. She looked resigned. But even more heartbreaking to me, she looked embarrassed.
And I wanted to stop and put my arms around her and say “Don’t be embarrassed, people understand. Do not be embarrassed.”
I wish I had said to her, “You’re doing a great job, you really are.”
Or even, “Is there anything at all I can do to help you?”
But I didn’t. I smiled as long (not long enough) and as warmly (not warmly enough) as I felt I comfortably could.
And then I wheeled around the corner and into the next aisle and my sweet Graham resumed chewing his cookie and I thought There, but by the grace of God, go I.
And I burst into tears.
