This week my boy has had a rough time; the anxiety has been on top pitch with the excitment of meeting our friends from NSW, attending a presentation at the State Library and then the death of my cousin.
She was a lovely person who knew, intimately, as both a professional and as a mother the Autistic Spectrum and all the curve balls it could throw at a person.
She was a good chum to my boy and he was saddened to have to say goodbye to her.
Her grandson, only a few years older, couldn't stop giving us both hugs, his Asperger's and anxiety making him search for words that normally come rushing out.
He's had the week off school to come to grips with his beloved grandmother's death; as expected as it was it is never easy or pleasant, particularly for those on the Spectrum and especially not when it's their first confrontation with Death.
My son and I approached the open coffin and said our goodbyes, wishing her Godspeed to her just rewards on the other side, such a blameless, generous and selfless life she'd lead she would be sitting at St Peter's right hand explaining the esoteric prayers she used in church.
After we sat back down my son gripped my hand; he won't hold my hand as we cross the road these days but he's realised there's still the odd occassion when a boy is allowed to hold his mum's hand no matter how old he gets.