Half My Sky

This morning, I sit at my desk as autumn’s light dances across the room.

I think of my oldest son, far away in Philadelphia. The leader of our family.

I think of Jack, who is working hard to make a life for himself. Who is stretching beyond the parenthesis autism imposes.

My middle son, Charlie. I remember all the ways in which he was lost and then found. I think of Christmas lights strung atop branches, desperately twinkling.

I watch my daughter Rose drive up the driveway and when she gets out of the car, I wonder, who is this young woman?

I hear Henry making breakfast. My youngest child. Blazing his very own trail through high school.

My husband Joe is murmuring to him. The man who always orders my favorite shrimp tacos and finds mismatched candles for my birthday. He holds up half my sky.

I only hope I did them justice.

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