Raising a child with autism is the topic of today’s episode of Flaws Are The New Black. You can watch it on YouTube and I hope you will. I appreciate the feedback (this is only my second episode) and am eager to begin an ongoing conversation with you about oh, everything under the sun!
Marriage, divorce, the death of a spouse, dating (eek!), caregiving, surviving a narcissist, hair (of course!), aging, weight (have you seen my collection of fat shirts?), finances, friendships (the good, the bad, the God I gotta get outta this one!), I want to talk about it all with you.
Thanks for watching and commenting and for all of your support.
And for those of you wondering how my “write drunk, edit sober” experiment is going, stay tuned!
Nice likeness, huh?
I’m kidding, of course. I mean naked in the figurative sense. I’m baring my soul to you, the people who’ve followed me through cancer, autism, death, divorce, single parenthood, weight loss, weight gain (you really must see my impressive collection of fat shirts), losing myself, and clawing my way back because I need your advice.
What would you like to hear from me about and how would you like to hear it? Blog posts? A podcast? Live action or You Tube videos (either of which would allow you to see my fat shirts in their full glory which is truly the best way to appreciate them)?
You’ve been with me from the beginning, and for that I can never thank you enough. And it’s for that reason that I’m asking you what you want next. Do you want to talk about cancer and care-giving, the perils of marrying a narcissist, the pain and unparalleled joys of raising a child with Autism? It’s your call so please, leave me as long or short a note in the comments section as you like, message me on Facebook, or send me an email at email@example.com.
I eagerly await your input, and that’s the naked truth.
Stu is gone six years on Thursday. Shortly after he passed, the boys and I went through a few of his favorite things. Casey wanted his dad’s Marine Corps album. Cuyler wanted his watch and wallet. I wanted his ratty Marines sweatshirt. I used to tease him about its decrepit condition, but he sure looked cute in it. And he let me wear it when I was pregnant with Casey, and then with Cuy, when I was as big as a bear. I keep it on a box under my bed and every now and then I pull it out and bury my face in its softness. It hasn’t smelled like him in a long time and yet a few days ago, when I sat on my bedroom floor holding and kissing and sniffing it, and it smelled of nothing, I was surprised. And angry. Six years is a long time. The three of us have been through so much in that time. And I’m not whining. No one’s life is smooth sailing. But, crazy as this sounds, I sat there thinking we deserved some sort of reward for having survived and just a whiff of the dad and husband who left us too soon would have been enough.
And then it hit me. If it couldn’t smell like Stu it’ll smell like Sue. It’s not the same by any means, but the boys will be happy to see it. They might even want to borrow it. And then God knows what it’ll smell like.
My latest piece, entitled “Today Is Not My Day. And Tomorrow Isn’t Looking Good, Either,” is up on the Huffington Post. I hope you’ll take a moment to read it and leave a comment on the site itself. Thanks!