If my mother is not here, who will show up to bring me flowers when I am vacuumed out,
cells gone, clean, neat, dark, unseeded? By Emily Franklin
We don’t want our boys to be “cured.” There is no cure; autism is a chronic state, like arthritis, or love. By Elizabeth Michaelson Monaghan
“Why is she like that?” my son asks. I hesitate. There’s no denying my mother’s passive aggressive disdain towards me. By Elizabeth Maria Naranjo
I told Mama to stop taking me to doctors when I was twelve. I didn’t want to be a burden. By SaraGrace Griffin
After surgery, a mother comes to terms with the reality that a clean house is not the same as a loving home.
By Leslie Kendall Dye
Without saying so, Mama let us know we kids could sometimes rock her world, but we couldn’t be her world.
By Ylonda Gault Caviness