My dearest aunt,

 I had just turned the legal drinking age when I found out I was pregnant. Being a young single mother was never an easy task. If anyone knew that it, was you. You were a teen mom once upon of time. Being one to a child on the spectrum was a different kind of difficult. My first born was diagnosed at the age of three. Your youngest was diagnosed with the same just three years earlier. Autism.

You saw it in my son.  My baby. You didn’t know how to tell me at first, eventually you found your way.  You held me up and kept me afloat when I was drowning in all the specialists and evaluations. When I cried, you cried with me and when I turned to you pleading for advice on how to reach my boy you suggested I “just love him.” Of course, I loved him, but I loved him with anger and fear, for both the present and future. That’s not what you meant.  You wanted me to love him with strength and compassion. That was your secret. That’s your legacy.

Ten years later, after your passing, my second born was diagnosed with Autism. You weren’t here to bring it to my attention but by then I knew what to look for. It was the strength to get through it this time around without your affection.You were tough, rough, and still so compassionate. Was it because of all the trauma and abuse you endured throughout the years? Was it your calling? Did you know it was legacy to be so?

When I think of strength, I think of you. Is that weird? Not to the people that knew you. Your smile was contagious, and your laugh was infectious. I often wondered how you could radiate so much happiness after all that you had been through.

I have a question, was your compassion something you had to work on, or was it natural? You made it look natural. It was natural, wasn’t it? A blessing disguised inside your heartache and turmoil. I myself have gone though my own unspeakable abuse and heartache. But you know that already. I feel your presence when I need it. Even after death you still manage to bless me with your compassion and grant me the strength I desperately need.

After calling on God, I call for you, in my thoughts, prayers and despair. After thanking God, I often thank you as well, for carrying me through things I alone cannot push through. Life is harder without you. I carried an emptiness inside of me for a long time.

The strength and compassion you bestowed on me was something you passed down to your children, along with the rest of our family. It took us a long time to figure out that in order to get through the shock of your passing we needed to fill your void with each other.

My dearest aunt, thank you for watching over us. These invisible wounds we’ve accumulated over the years due to your passing are slowly beginning to heal. We have now gone from anger to compassion. For those who went through what you did, and for those who watch others endure the same as well. We miss you with our entire being. Rest knowing you have blessed us with courage in life and hope in death. The hope that we will see you once again.