I hope their doubts are based on parents who loved and trusted them less than mine do. I have friends who think I’m foolish to write this letter. That would be O.K., if I loved you any less than I do, but you are still my parents and I am still your child.
![dear mama poem dear mama poem](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/B0kEJOpxUA8/maxresdefault.jpg)
Every time I try to write to you and Papa I realize I’m not saying the things that are in my heart. I hope you have, too.“DEAR MAMA, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. We've known sadness, but we've also known acceptance and unconditional love. Every week, I sit beside my husband and soak in Gospel truths because of their sacrifice. I've been blessed by high school students who give up their Sunday mornings to serve as aides for my little boy. I've watched patient therapists capture my son's attention and work so diligently, week after week, to elicit even a vowel sound from him. I've heard the pure laughter of children, my son's friends, when they chase him. "You want to help me, Milo? Let's build a tower!" The total joy that comes from knowing that my child is seen. I know the indescribable feeling of watching another child approach my son and stacking blocks, one by one, beside him. I think you've probably hit that tiny "x" a few times, too. Ignorance is bliss, they say, and I don't know if it's bliss, but sometimes it's better. There have been times I hit the tiny "x" on my newsfeed when Facebook friends bragged about their genius toddlers. My story is too long to tell between aisles of home decor and bath towels, so I just smile and nod. "They haven't stopped since the DVD came out!" A shared joke between moms. I've heard kids in Target singing along with Idina Menzel: "Let it go! Let it go! Can't hold it back anymore!"The embarrassed mom sees me, a kindred spirit with her own littles in tow. No, blue!" For just a minute, I imagine what it would be like to ask my own child these questions and hear his reply. "What's your favorite color?" "Blue! No, orange. I've marveled while talking with kids my son's age-asking such simple questions, just to hear their answers. "Drink? D-d-drink?" (pouring water into a sippy cup) "Movie? M-m-movie?" (holding out a favorite DVD) "Apple? App-app-apple?" (red fruit in hand) I've hunkered down to face my child, tears racing from my eyes and his, echoing, "I don't know what you want, baby" before going through the daily show-and-tell of objects: Like you, I've hesitated in checkout lines when well-meaning cashiers kindly question my son: "And how old are you, young man?" Like you, I smile-as if waiting, too-before replying for him. And-as if taking a cue from your baby-you say nothing. I know the twisted, breathless feeling you feel, deep inside, when someone casually asks, "You sure you want him to talk? I can't get mine to shut up!" Clenched fists hidden in the pockets of a fleece jacket. I know you'd gladly give up coffee for the rest of your life-or books, or music, or whatever gets you through the day-if it meant you could hear his little voice.
![dear mama poem dear mama poem](https://www.poemhunter.com/i/poem_images/373/dear-mama-13.jpg)
I know talking to me is no substitute for the conversation you long to have I know you've gone years upon years waiting for a voice. I just wanted to sit beside you, green-sleeved lattes in hand, and talk. Her poems have been published in literary journals such as Illuminations, Birmingham Arts Journal, Ruminate, and others.
![dear mama poem dear mama poem](https://media-temporary.preziusercontent.com/frames-public/6/d/3/1/6/fb7bffd4907982f28bec510d194380.jpeg)
Heather is an autism mom, writer and coffee devotee.