The next morning I woke up and looked at Evan sleeping sideways on the bed. His cute cheeks were smashed on my chest and he was looking up at me. He blinked his big blue eyes and said, "It's going to be a beautiful day."
I smiled back at him and said, "Yes, it is, Evan...a BEAUTIFUL day." I gave thanks for the words that came out of his mouth and then tickled him to tears. After I released him from the tickle machine, he ran to go play and my panic attack returned with a vengeance. "What the hell?" I thought.
I called Jim at his house. "Something is up and I can't get a grip. I can hardly breathe."
"What's bothering you?" he asked, and I said, "Nothing." He then told me to call my therapist. She was the woman who convinced me to get a divorce and I hadn't talked to her in two years. But I hung up from Jim and took his advice.
My therapist answered the phone and I explained to her what was going on. She paused for a moment and then said, "You have never dealt with the fact that you feel guilty for Evan's autism."
I was silent for a moment and then replied, "No, Evan's pediatrician is guilty for his autism."
She said, "You need to get in here. You have never dealt with this. It's always been about your ex or money or autism in general but never your guilt."
I didn't want to hear this. I wanted to get off the phone with her, so I quickly replied, "Okay, I'll call you next week to set something up." I hung up and sank into my chair completely stumped.