I have been up since two. Of course I did the truncated sleep thing when I had babies but I was in my twenties then. And my thirties. And my early forties. But now I am closer to sixty than fifty five and exhaustion does not make a good combo with menopause. Still Benjamin woke up before the birds and made sure I did too. 

The getting ready routine, when it was time for it four hours later, was devoid of any pleasantries. No definitions asked or given, so lilting refrains of My Grandfather's Clock. He dressed. He ate, He went. 

Benjamin's ratings on my Favorite Offspring Scale did not climb in his absence. By evening I was still glaring at him when I left for a meeting. The company of other non sleep deprived people with lives that do not revolve around a young man with autism did much to extract me from my self absorption.  At the close of our time together the leader invited us to articulate what we would like to have her pray for on our behalf. 

This was a wake up call unlike the one I got at two. 

When it was my turn the words that came out of my mouth were not, for once that day, about me and my woes. 

"Pray for Ben."

The notion glimmered in my mind. Benjamin is having a rough go of life too. While I have plenty of phrases at my fingertips with which to express my side of Life with Ben, he does not. So he yells. But his hurt is probably as legitimate as mine, his distress as deep. 

When we find ourselves at odds with someone whose life is intertwined with our own, it can be tempting to stay on our side of the wall. But there is an unspoken invitation to find the window, even if it is small, and climb through to the other side. 

In the meantime, I am praying. For Ben.