Reflections of the Moon

by Sarah Broady | April 9, 2013
A shiver runs down my spine. I pull my coat tighter around me, my gloved hands buried in the folds of my arms, my chin nuzzling my scarf. The night air is crisp with a chill that gently stings my cheeks. My eyes are downcast…

“Why are you downcast, o my soul?”
As I walk the pavement, I see the dark outline of the trees standing in stark contrast to the bright moon, their brittle limbs swaying back and forth in the wind. It’s not a full moon tonight. I look up, attempting to recall what stage it’s in. There’s a sliver missing on the bottom and I wonder how the sun is able to cause the many fashions of the moon in its color, fullness, and brightness. It hangs in the sky night after night, the stars its companions. It is faithful to rise, predictable in shape. Only our perception of it changes. How the clouds mesh with the sun’s reflection to create an array of colors that spill off its canvas into the sky, spreading like fingers that I try to touch with my outstretched hand.
But the moon, it knows nothing. It has not a mind to contain or impart knowledge. It is a being, an ancient god, that somehow still touches our souls. It knows nothing of autism. Its craters are dry, having never shed a tear over a son who’s challenges pierce its heart. What the moon does know though, as I know very well, is night. It knows the darkness into which it shines. It only ever lives in darkness, revolving the world satisfying our expectations to appear. The only light it knows is not even it’s own as the moon has no light of itself, only reflections of the sun.
Sometimes I feel like the moon. Only ever living in darkness. The sun shines, yet I cannot cross over to the day.
But, if I am like the moon, my existence is made known by the sun. The sun reveals the character of the moon. Mountain tops and valleys dot the landscape. I have mountain tops and valleys. And just like the moon, I am reflecting Light. Sometimes I am only a sliver of hope barely holding on, other times I am full of myself and bright, joyful to blind the eyes of those who are watching. Tonight I am reflecting the moon, mostly full, but a sliver is missing.
I turn back to my house and there in the window, illuminated by the lamplight within, is my son. And there, on his face… a smile. Much like the sliver that was missing from the moon’s side.
I’m coming son. I’m coming.

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