She answered, "Because your autism is not who you are, it's what you have, and God spent a little extra time making your brain special so you could fill the world with your beauty."
I can't help feeling like I failed her for living through what she died from.
With her musical pieces on repeat I was restringing the bow as her killer, facedown and eagle spread, begged for mercy, and I knew he would never forget.
Until the day she pulled her final cruel act as I desperately tried to stop the train.
I knew it would cost me a third of my grade, but my symptoms from PCOS couldn't wait "until the bell rang."
My voice carried clearly but brokenly as I stated, "I hope to God one day if you ever have a loved one with dementia, you treat them better than you just treated my dad, shame on you all."
She knew she would never be truly accepted being herself but surely just one person could see beyond the autism, couldn't they?
What they didn't learn was that you always check the toilet before sitting down.
The paper he had shakily written on said eight heartbreaking words, "I simply couldn't afford the insulin, goodbye Mom."
They had pranked him by putting meat into his meal as a vegetarian last week, too bad tonight the plumber was working on his toilet as the "bubble guts" hit.