We haven’t spent much time together lately, and I miss you like crazy. No, that’s not quite right. Missing you is driving me crazy.
Maybe you feel I abused you when I was a child; pretending we were together when we weren’t, just so I could get out of doing things I didn’t want to do.
Maybe I took you for granted in my early adult-hood, when you got in the way of other things I wanted to do.
But since having a family, I realise how much you mean to me. You may think I abandoned you to be with my children; constantly parting from you so I could go to them when they cry or need the bathroom or need reassurance. But without you, I cannot give them the mother they deserve, or be the wife my husband needs. Loving them only makes me love you more.
I’ve been talking to my eldest son about you lately: Trying to explain the difference between you and death, because he wanted to know. And it’s only made me appreciate you even more. Death is so greedy and it lies; it pretends to be you but it refuses to let go. You though, always let us go back to other things we treasure, refreshed and ready to enjoy them again.
Without you, my brain is at half-speed, and my negative emotions are too intense. I’m too angry, too sad, too impatient. There’s a fuzzy grey film over my life that distorts everything. After we’ve spent time together, the film lifts and reality – for better or worse – shines through. So when I meet or hear from other people who don’t spend much time with you either, I try extra hard to be patient and understanding with them, and I hope others will do the same with me.
And finally, dear sleep, it is only because I am missing you so much that I would ever even consider anthropomorphizing you in a letter, on a blog that’s meant to be about my autistic son.
I wait anxiously until we can be together again.