My name is Lucinda Morrison, and I was sixty-six years old the October my world turned upside down in our quiet little town just outside Columbus, Ohio.<\/p>\n
I honestly thought life had run out of ways to surprise me.<\/p>\n
I was wrongMy son Dean and his wife Nyla were heading off on a seven-day cruise out of Florida, leaving me to watch my eight-year-old grandson, Damian. He had been labeled non-verbal since birth, and for eight long years I\u2019d never heard the sound of his voice.<\/p>\n
That morning, my small front yard was littered with fallen maple leaves, the air cool and sharp the way it gets in the Midwest when summer finally gives up. Dean was loading their suitcases into the trunk of their shiny sedan, talking over his shoulder in that careful tone I\u2019d come to recognize\u2014love mixed with obligation, like caring for his own mother was something to check off his to-do list.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, you\u2019re sure you can handle him for a week?\u201d Dean asked for the third time, muscles straining as he hefted a suitcase into the car.I tightened my cardigan around me and lifted my chin. \u201cI\u2019ve been taking care of children since before you were born,\u201d I reminded him. \u201cDamian and I will be just fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
The front door opened and Nyla stepped out onto the porch. Even at that hour, she looked like she\u2019d stepped out of a lifestyle magazine\u2014platinum-blond hair smooth and flawless, nails done, makeup subtle and expensive. At thirty-four she had the kind of beauty that turned heads at the grocery store and the kind of ambition that never seemed satisfied with what she already had.<\/p>\n
She carried a sleek weekender bag in one manicured hand and a small insulated tote in the other.\u201cLucinda, I prepared some special tea for you,\u201d she said, her voice honey-sweet, thick with a concern that somehow never reached her eyes. \u201cThe chamomile blend you love so much. I made enough to last the whole week. Just add hot water to the packets I left on the counter.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, a little surprised. Nyla wasn\u2019t usually the thoughtful-gesture type unless there was an audience.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s very kind of you,\u201d I said.She stepped closer, resting her manicured hand lightly on my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd remember,\u201d she added, \u201cDamian\u2019s bedtime is exactly at eight. He gets very agitated if his routine is disrupted. The pediatrician said consistency is crucial for kids with his condition.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll stick to his routine,\u201d I promised.Damian stood beside me on the porch, his small hand tucked trustingly into mine. He wore his favorite dinosaur T-shirt and carried the worn stuffed elephant he\u2019d had since he was two. To anyone passing by on the street, he would have looked exactly like what the reports said: a special-needs child, quiet and withdrawn, dependent on the adults around him to navigate a confusing world.<\/p>\n
Dean slammed the trunk shut and came to hug me.<\/p>\n
\u201cCall if you need anything,\u201d he said. \u201cAnything at all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo enjoy your trip,\u201d I told him. \u201cWe\u2019ll be fine.Nyla knelt and gave Damian a quick, careful hug, like she was posing for a photo.<\/p>\n
\u201cBe good for Grandma,\u201d she said. \u201cNo fussing, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My name is Lucinda Morrison, and I was sixty-six years old the October my world turned upside down in our quiet little town just outside Columbus, Ohio…. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":12078,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12077","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n