Dear Amos,

I've never written a letter quite like this. To put my heart on paper when it comes to you is quite a feat, but I shall try because I adore you. Someday, when you're quite grown, I hope you shall read this letter and know from whence a mother's love was born. Your arrival into our family was never anything but perfectly wonderful, three siblings thrilled for a baby, and parents who knew that the best always comes last. How could we have known how very true that would be when your precious self found your way into our hearts just three years ago?

I jump ahead so as not to bore you, though there is much in between. I write to you of autism, a word offered this week to describe a part of the boy we love. Autism. My eyes sting with fearful love, though my heart bursts with hope and joy. You've never disappointed us, son. If anything, your life has rained manna on our family in a way that I have never witnessed. The whole lot of you is amazing, complex and mysterious, but perfectly and wondrously made. A perfect Amos.

When I think of autism, I see no dark. No, behind my closed eyes, images whirl and drift quite beautifully, all of you and the love tangled in your fine blond locks, the boy with the lion heart. I see your small self, running and stumbling and standing again, arms outreached for me. I see your tan frame, counting to jump as you squeal with glee before falling below the surface of cool water. I see your happy smile, laughing and fearless in a special sleigh so that you could ski with your family and I remember how that felt. Amos, if those things are autism, then all is right in the world.

Love,

Mama