It’s a gorgeous morning in the metro Boston area, sunny, 65 degrees, perfect. I had a wonderful commute in, pondered the potential/pending commercial real estate crisis and how it might affect my job. I enjoyed the sunshine, people were smiling…I was smiling.
I bumped into a colleague in the hall, as she returned to her office with her morning coffee, and made small talk. She asked if that was my little boy on the door of my office (I have two photos up along with a page about Fragile X and the Road Race) and I said it was. She asked after him and I told her how much I’m loving four, how lovable and huggy he is. She told me, over her shoulder as she walked into her office, “Nurture that so he’ll make a great husband some day.”
Immediately tears came to my eyes and it’s taken me a while to recover. My son, a husband? I hope he will be. I fear he won’t be. I ache for what that loss could mean in regards to grandchildren and, more importantly, his happiness.
I have to shake off the tears and the fears that lie buried so closely to the surface in my life with Fragile X. I have to move forward and find that hope that keeps us all going. I just wish it didn’t have to happen at 9 AM.