Different Song, Please

I was at choir rehearsal last night. We came to the song I never get to sing. It never fails. We get halfway through and come to that line about “the will to go on, go on.” And my breath stops, it clenches, I choke it all back. And I listen to the words assault me.

Late at night, I hear it singing,

Then again when I wake at dawn.

And it fills me up with hope and good will,

The will to go on, go on…

There is a river in Judea that I heard of long ago

And it’s a singing, ringing river that my soul cries out

To know.

Three of us who sing together in the second sopranos, we’re all mothers of Asperger children. I mean, what are the odds, right? We also drive to choir together. Sometimes we talk about it, joke a little, congratulate each other on small gains. For once, we don’t need to explain, to apologize.

I spent the afternoon today with a woman who called me for help about her son. Like I’m an expert. I listened to her, the long list of her programs and efforts and specialists, admiring her control over her facial muscles and voice as she talked about her fears and the fruitlessness of her efforts. And about her son’s bewilderment at the constant daily failure of everything he tries, the constant constant constant daily failure of his everything. About where it was all going.

Like I knew.

When I got home, I sat outside on the back deck staring at the snow till it grew dark.

I thought about us, about the shipwrecks of our careers and dreams, and the heavy heavy weight of our children. No matter how hard we try. What lies ahead?

I don’t have any answers. I never do. I just have questions.

So much of life is just carrying on.