I etched my way home in the icy night from the workshop I gave with the mothers of Autism.
I wasn't entirely sure what I'd done, what we'd done. I sat with it. I experienced myself as covered in a cloak of sadness and joy. Their stories, so beautifully shared had felt like blows to my tender self. There were tears of mirth and grief. I stored the emotion of their stories in a protective cloak so I could proceed with the evening intact. I am very touched by them.
I read the feedback forms. I sense a real yearning for our stories to be known. I am struck by the clarity, wisdom, grace, fun, sheer bloody-mindedness and bountiful love these women embody.
I want to do more. To hear our stories and make something wonderful with them.
I've just listened again to the recordings of their final stories. I am laughing again. So brilliant. Here’s a short one from Mimi Banks about her son, Jonah who has Autism…
“ So, this little girl comes up to play with Jonah in the playground and after 30 seconds, something happens and she stomps off saying, 'you're weird, I don't want to play with you' and Jonah calls after her, 'I'm not weird, I'm Captain America!’ ”.
I love that.
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