I will never know what prompted my mom and dad to get married. Upon reflection, I’m glad they did because I enjoy being alive, but they were terribly suited for each other. Which is why, when they announced their divorce when I was five-years-old, I was relieved. My only memories of my parents’ marriage were of them fighting. No happy times to reminisce about at all.

When they did divorce, Mom was afraid she’d never find love. She had 3 kids and didn’t think any man would accept that. Thankfully, God proved her wrong. Two years after the divorce, she met a man who was captivated by her mere presence. He asked her out and she said “yes.” Mom was very interested in him too and really wanted to impress him. She had always told me that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, so she invited him over to her apartment and cooked dinner for him. Mom was a fabulous cook (a skill she passed down to me, to brag a little) and won his heart. 18 months later, they got married.

On the day of their wedding, I looked at my new step-father and asked him if I should call him “Dad.” He responded with, “You have a dad and I’m not here to replace him. I called my father “Pop,” so that’s what you can call me.” He’s been Pop ever since, and a week ago today, Pop passed away.

I was eight when he became my pop. He was an amazing step-father. Always there to tell me how much he loved me and never judged me. He simply accepted me as I was then and how I am now.

In high school, I had a zero hour class, so I got out early. After school, I would walk to a local restaurant called Savory Faire and meet Mom, who was heading home from work, and Pop, who was going to work. We had an hour to eat and we had a lot of great conversations. That time spent at Savory Faire were some of the greatest moments from my high school years.

When I got married, I asked Pop to walk me down the aisle and he accepted. He was very proud to give me away. I have many other moments in my life that were made better because Pop was there, but I’m not ready to share them. He was a true light in my life. However, he kind of shut down when Mom passed away in 2008. I still went to visit him once or twice a year until my first son was born in 2013, and we talked on the phone often, but he missed Mom a lot and couldn’t find it within himself to rejoin the living.

Two weeks ago, my sister called to tell me that Pop had another stroke and he was in the hospital. The next day, while in the hospital, he had a second heart attack. I flew up to where he lived to see him one last time. The doctor explained that there was nothing they could do for him, and a week later, he was gone. I’m sad but at the same time at peace. I know he’s with Mom now. Life will never be the same, and it’s hard knowing I’ll never talk on the phone with Pop again, but Mom and Pop are together again and that’s all he’s wanted for the past 17 years.

This may not sound all that exciting to most parents who pick up their child and their child immediately hugs the parent with their legs. Let me explain.

In August of 2017 I started to notice my almost two year old son wasn’t hearing sounds as well as he should. I would call his name and he wouldn’t respond. I would walked up to him from behind and clap very loudly and he wouldn’t flinch. He wasn’t talking. I took him to a pediatric hearing doctor and the tests they performed showed he was indeed partially deaf. Cut to several tests later, all with the same results, an Auditory Brainstem Response (ABR) test was performed. The test involves sedating the child to measure how many sound waves are making their way to the brain. Well, my son passed with flying colors. He could hear just fine. He was just good at ignoring the world around him. 

A month later, he needed hernia repair surgery and the nurse taking care of him had assumed I had my son diagnosed with autism. I went along because something had started to click in my head. She commiserated with me because her son was autistic too. I went home and her words kept eating at my thoughts. He still wasn’t talking. He had poor social skills. His nickname was “squiggles” because he was squirmy and wiggly every time he was picked up. In fact when he wasn’t being squiggly he would just be still and not affectionate at all.

Nine months and seven different doctors (all in agreement) he had his diagnosis. Moderate autism. My son’s autistic. He’s receiving therapy and he’s gaining words. He’s a sweet boy. He even hugged me once. Then the other day I picked him up and he wrapped his legs around my waist and held on. I stopped. I wasn’t ready to put him in the car. He still lives in his own world. When he gets excited he jumps up and down and flaps his arms. He’s incredibly rigid in everything he does. I took a moment to let him just cling to me. I took the rare moment of a child needing his mother. It was a moment of bliss and then he became himself again. He let go. I’m not sure if or when it will happen again but I’m glad it happened at all.