It was strategically placed so it could be viewed while standing at the kitchen sink, but somehow over the years became almost invisible due to lack of an occupant. What brought it back into focus last week, was the reality of a large birch tree branch falling neatly between the swing and the kitchen window that provides prime viewing of the swing.
As branch and its debris were dragged away I found myself wondering how long it had been since Micah actually used this swing that he once very much enjoyed. There was a time when it was a safe, happy place for him to get his sensory needs met while I worked in the kitchen. Hours were spent pumping his legs to reach for the sky, or twirling in the seat to provide movement that seemed to sooth him. When did he decide that he no longer enjoyed the swing, and how did I miss that last swing?
I am sure it was before cell phones as there are no photos of him swinging in the thousands of saved phone photos that I have stashed in the computer over the years. It was a milestone that happened when life was so busy that it did not register the bittersweet reality that he had outgrown this safe place in his life. One of those last times, such as him coming up to climb into bed with us at night when he was little, Those last lasts that we do not miss or register until they are long behind us.
Staring at the swing, I found myself longing to hold the little guy who was content to swing there for hours. I had no idea what his future would hold, but he was certainly easier to keep up with back then, and it felt easier to keep him safe. Those thoughts might just be rosy memories, perhaps not reality. Back then, I was not as aware of the risks ahead for him as we navigated life with Autism.
The swing stands as a reminder of the small boy who found freedom there, a magnet pulling this mother’s heart back to a simpler time when peace was just a swing away.
Jan Lessard Peightell September 14, 2022