How Long?

How long am I supposed to grieve this autism beast? What is the maximum allowable time in which to cry and kick and yell? When does it soften at the edges and become workable, liveable, prayable? Where is the day when my heart will not break fresh more than one or two times over this?

I want so badly to function. To get on with making it better, helping him adapt, seeing the half-fullness of all this. I know that this grief is selfish and not the least bit helpful to anyone. I know. But damn, I look and look and it is all I have in me right now. I see baby pictures and it hurts. Is that where it happened? Was that when I could have done, should have seen, something? You know, his brother, his twin, almost died at ten days. He caught pneumonia and was taken by ambulance to the NICU. Did I catch it? No. My sister did. Nice job, Mommy. Now, mind you, what the docs originally thought was mottled skin was actually his port wine marks, but still, he was sick, really sick, and I didn't grasp it. Also, mind you, he caught the crap from my sister's kid, but still. So I worried about him, That Little Fuzzy Headed Fellow. I used to rock him and worry that there was some horrid future fallout from all that because I had a bad feeling down deep in my mommy gut. Turns out that the bad feeling was just directed at the wrong crib, the wrong little fellow. Damn.

And yes, I talk to people. Probably talk to them until they wish I was the one who doesn't yet have spontaneous language. And these people use phrases like "fortunate to have a mom like you" and "good parent" and "not your fault" and so forth, and it means nothing to me. Every day, fresh as bread from the oven, I grieve.

My flaw, I know. I have to step up, I know. But Lord be gentle, I can't even look up.

How Long?