The Photograph

Published January 18th, 2007

“What a lovely photograph”, I say
“Oh! she’s at University studying medicine?”
 “Wow – and this one’s got a job that pays how well?”
“You must be very proud”, I say And my son? “Yes he’s doing well” – and back away from that parlay
Not from shame for my boy but from grief for his lost future
This proud mum, who has lived a life of plenty
With a family of overachievers
How could she understand the depth of pride I feel for my son?
Who has worked so hard all his life just trying to be “normal”
He was robbed before he was born
Because his mum chose to plumb the depths
Of a bottle while he was growing inside her
Not knowing that this beautiful child would suffer forever
For her weakness—But he isn’t weak - not at all
He’s strong - he’s succeeded in life so far
And his mum can be as proud as the mother with her high achievers, and ache with the same love
Our hearts beating with the same rejoicing
But I value little things more - I think
Like when he says “Good morning mum!”
And I reply, “Good morning son”
And smile – longing to hug him
My twenty something son
Or when he says “’’oy, ‘’oy, ‘’oy” when he knows I’m on phone
Or when he picks up his dog
And holds her with her tummy pressed against his bare chest
And she seems to hug him back, her paws around his neck
She loves him too
My precious, precious child

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