The Award

It was a rough school year.

The week before Thanksgiving this past year, I pulled James out of my favorite school in the world and moved him into another school. I wrote about why I did it here.

And then I didn't write anything else. Because honestly I didn't know how he was doing. My incredible friends who drove him to his new school and signed him out for me at the end of the day said he was doing great. It seemed like the transition was good. He no longer cried about going to school before he went to bed at night and his teachers assured me that it was "like he was always in their classroom".

But James wouldn't talk about any of the students in his class except for O (who he had known for years) so I had no idea if he was connecting with anyone else. And because this school has the exact same drop off and pick up time as his brother's school 15 minutes away, I couldn't be there to walk him down the hallway and see how and if he interacted with any other students and teachers. I only saw him running laps around the playground by himself when I went to go meet him after school, while all the other kids he knew all played gaga ball together.

The math curriculum was completely different, so when I transferred him I basically threw him in to a ton of stuff he wasn't prepared for. Although it was the one subject he had always enjoyed and felt confident in, he was suddenly struggling, and he hated English language arts just as much (if not more) than he did before. Homework became a nightmare. He agonized about it so much most days that he couldn't calm down enough to actually begin his work. He refused to read anything but his big cat photo books and spent the nightly 20 minutes asking me why he had to read, why it took so long, and how much time he had left. We began reading chapter books with to him nightly again. Reading a page and encouraging him to take a turn. Just to get him to read something. To get him to read anything.

I wondered a lot What the hell have I done?

I knew it was just going to take time for him to get acclimated so I tried to focus on what had been going well so far. He rode to school with his friend each day and didn't get upset. He was home by 3 pm most days, with the rest of the afternoon to play. I really liked his teachers and knew they were working as hard as they could to pull him in. I had a great IEP meeting with his team in May. Everyone was in complete agreement with what we needed to do to best support him.

His class did a week-long program on a historic schooner anchored in Boston Harbor in June that I wrote about here. And at the time I thought, Whoa. This is definitely the highlight of the school year. I was so proud of him for facing his biggest fears, and I had hoped that the work aboard program would help him connect with his classmates. But he wouldn't talk about it. Any of it. And he wouldn't talk about any of the kids he experienced it with. While I thought of it as a total win over anxiety and sensory challenges and was grateful that he accomplished something so huge, it didn't seem to do anything to break the social barrier.

Then, at the very end of the year, I went to his "class showcase". During the showcase, they had a ribbon ceremony where each student was to be presented with an award.

Almost all the students sat in a half circle on the floor, but James bee-lined towards a chair off to the side and behind the circle of kids. Johnny and I sat in chairs next to him and I felt, well, isolated and anxious. I thought about previous class presentations at his old school where James had (shyly) participated and everyone in the room understood and adored him.

And the What the Hell have I done feeling started creeping back in to my head again as I looked around at the students, all talking excitedly and laughing with each other while James sat off to the side, his body half off the chair and pointed towards the door.

My mind started to spin.

I just transferred a child with significant social and emotional challenges into a classroom of 23 ten year olds, most of whom have known each other since kindergarten. Nobody is going to get why he asks them all over and over again the same questions about big cats and exotic cars and runs laps around the playground. What if they don't take the time to get to understand him? What if the class is so big that they don't even notice him? It is so much bigger than any other classroom he has ever been in. He's going to be lost. He's going to be remain invisible and fall through the cracks. 

The ceremony started and the teachers took turns handing out awards to students. But these weren't the kind of awards I expected. Each award was read with enthusiasm and seemed of pick up on what was going to make each student feel incredibly special. I watched each student smile while jumping up to get his or her award.

The class Fashionista. The Speller. The Student with Perfect Attendance. Most helpful. Most Enthusiastic Reader.

As the awards continued, the students started guessing who the award was meant for. So when one of the teachers said "This student asks every day if we need help..." her voice was drowned out by 20+ kids yelling names and pointing and cheering. Even James started guessing and pointing.

It. Was. Awesome.

A few of the awards were prefaced with comments like: "This student is the fastest at math in the class" and "This student is always smiling".

And at those descriptions, some students actually stood up and pointed towards us yelling "JAMES! I THINK IT'S JAMES!"

It wasn't. Either time. But I found myself grinning. These kids, who had just met my son a few months ago, knew him. They knew he was good at math and they knew he always smiled.

And then a few second later, it became crystal clear that not only did they know him, they actually GOT him.

Because it was then that the teacher read the next award saying "This student can tell you anything and everything... about big cats" and the class went nuts calling James' name and jumping up and down and pointing to him.

And the kid who hates to be the center of attention and tries so hard to be invisible was BEAMING WITH PRIDE.

That was the moment I realized we were both going to be just fine.

James acknowledging his award as the class Big Cat Expert, with his brother Johnny by his side.
Still shot of award acceptance video thanks to my dear friend O's mom, who had the foresight to film it because she knew it  was going to be something I would want to watch. A lot. 

Why I Knock

You know me, right? I've always completely avoided discussing any issue where there is the slightest chance of conflict. I feel uncomfortable telling people that they should believe something other than they do, especially people I don't know very well.

So the absolute hardest thing ever for me is exactly how I've spent much of my free time for half a year now.

I've been talking to strangers about politics.

I am spending all my free time walking around Boston neighborhoods (alone usually), knocking on the doors of people I've never met before and making them stop whatever important task they are doing so I can ask them to vote for John Connolly for Mayor.

The first time I went out, I held my breath at every door. If nobody answered, I exhaled with relief. If they did answer, and said they weren't interested, I apologized for bothering them, said thank you and went on my way. I didn't even try to change their mind. But about 15 doors in, something pretty awesome happened. The woman who answered the door said she didn't know much about John, and asked me a few questions.

Then she paused for a minute, looked at me curiously, and asked "Why are you doing this?"

All of a sudden, I wasn't nervous anymore. And I told her this story:

When James was 5, he was in his 3rd school in 4 years. The only reason he wasn't 4 for 4 was because we held him back so he wouldn't switch schools. Each time he switched, he lost half a year trying to just trying to adjust. The IEP team had mapped out his next move, and it meant another 2 schools in 2 years. Then he could stay for 3 years but would have to switch again after that. 

Our school district didn't have many inclusion pathways. It was kindergarten in one school, then 1st and 2nd in another. The kids for whom transition is the hardest are the ones who had to move the most.

I paused, thinking she was probably starting to tune out, but she was listening intently.

After visiting every inclusion school in the entire city, I found 1 in which James would be able to thrive, and I spent a year advocating to get him placed there. John Connolly heard what had happened and wanted to make sure no other family had to go through that. He held a Education Committee hearing on inclusion and encouraged parents to speak about our experiences. He used the hearing to passionately implore BPS to develop set inclusion pathways. 

And he didn't stop there. He had his staff members attend SpedPac meetings. He approached my autism moms group and asked if he could meet with us to learn more. He listened to us and asked thoughtful questions. He asked what he could do to help us.  

I'm out here today, I told her, because he is out there for all of us every day.

And then she hugged me. She told me that it meant a lot to her that I would share my story, and she understood how much it meant to me that he be elected.  She thanked me for telling her, and said she would make a point to learn more about him.

I've been telling my story since April, and every single person has had the same reaction as that first woman. And many have told me their own story of how John helped a friend, or returned a call immediately, or listened and offered a solution. As the year went on, that first knock turned from a moment of fear and apprehension into one of curious anticipation. Those strangers became neighbors, and talking politics turned into talking about how to make Boston a better place.

This is why I knock.

Election Day is in just 2 days, on November 5. For the first time in 20 years, Boston will elect a new Mayor. We have 3 full days to make a difference. If you can spare an hour, I'd love to have you walk with me and talk to our neighbors about making Boston better. Please join me!

Mixing Martinis and Fire Pits is a Very Good Idea. If...

On World Autism Awareness Day, I wrote a post about why I wasn't going to put out a blue light on our stoop. James gets really upset when attention is drawn towards him and he is just starting to understand what having autism means. I don't want him to feel at all uncomfortable while we navigate together through uncharted waters.

I do, however, know how important it is for our children with autism to have the same opportunities as all the other kids in our community. And I know all too well how necessary it is for me to have time away with my friends to relax and unwind, so I can continue to be the best mom to James and Johnny that I can.

So when the chance came to spend the evening raising money for students with autism just by hanging out with my D'MAC friends drinking martinis at our de facto clubhouse... well, it was like all the stars had aligned.

A few years ago, folks from the West Roxbury YMCA approached us and asked how they could help. I'm not sure that at the time they realized how loaded a question that was. We had kids who couldn't participate in general swim classes and in many of the programs offered in our community. Our kids were missing out on some great opportunities to actively socialize. For some of us, the hours after school were the most difficult. Our autistic children needed constant direction and guidance and behaviors always seem to be more challenging when they get home after a long and frustrating day at school, but all our other children needed our attention also. Many of us felt like we were not doing enough for any of our kids.

We poured our hearts and our ideas out to the Y. They listened. They understood. And then they created an incredible program.

We now have an open swim and open gym where our kids can play and relax and just be themselves, in a safe and judgment free environment. Most importantly, we have an after school program with a ton of volunteers who take the students swimming and do OT based play. 

These programs provide incredible and much needed opportunities for our children, and for us.


So the fabulous Sonia and Joe Garufi at Sophia's Grotto decided to give back to the Y. They created a drink special called the Blue Spectrum Martini, and all proceeds from sales of this drink go directly to the Y's after school autism program. And they didn't stop there. They got some absolutely incredible raffle items donated by their generous vendors, including a night at the Colonnade in Back Bay, a case of Italian wine and a fire pit filled with bottles of gin and vodka! I almost feel like I shouldn't be telling you this because I want to win so badly, but I'll do it for the kids I guess...


If you've ever been to the Grotto, you'll understand why it's been my favorite restaurant since even before I was lucky enough to count Sonia and Joey as friends. If you haven't yet been to the little hidden gem in Rosi Village, you need to go. NOW. THIS WEEKEND.

The Blue Spectrum Martini and raffles will be featured until Sunday 4/7 (raffle drawing is Sunday evening.)
You'll leave the Grotto content after a delicious meal and happy you were able to help by having a fun night out. And you might even leave with a fire pit filled with bottles of vodka!!


D'MAC helping Steve make Blue Spectrum Martinis

Wicked Awesome Raffles. For the kids, right?



Just doing my part. For the kids...

Following the Leader

He was two. Although it was still a bit light outside, it was way past his bedtime and he was exhausted. We all were.

We couldn't figure out why he was so out of sorts. He seemed fine until we started trying to put him to bed, but each time we tried to put him in his crib he started screaming. He was trying to wriggle out of our hold. The closer we tried to hold him to console him, the more upset he got and the more he fought to get away.

He kept going for the front door. He needed to go outside. I tried to think of what we had done that day that might have set him off. Nope, nothing different. We did an inventory check of all the things he carried around. Everything was where it should be. Nothing was missing. Nothing was left out in the yard.

He kept trying to get past his dad blocking the door. We couldn't redirect him. We couldn't calm him.

We had no idea what it was that he was looking for, but we knew he wasn't going to calm down until he got whatever it was.

Finally, we gave up and opened the door. He bolted outside and went straight for the front gate.

Tony followed him. I stayed with baby Johnny and waited.

James went across the street to our friends'. Tony explained that he had no idea why, but James needed to come over and he now wanted to go in their house. They all watched James run through their house and out the back sliding door to their backyard. He bee-lined for the Little Tykes slide and went straight down.

And his face changed. In the 2 seconds it took to slide to the bottom, he became calm. He allowed Tony to pick him up and he rested against his dad as he was carried home. He laid down in his crib, relaxed.

I realized that night that James was the only one who knew what he needed, so we should follow his lead.

Last year I asked all my friends to wear blue for Autism Awareness Day and think of James. I put a blue light on our front stoop and left it up for the entire month. I put a puzzle piece magnet on my car. I wrote a post about what I thought we could do to educate others about autism. I did all the things I thought I should do as James' mom to help raise awareness and understanding.

But I realize now that I was thinking more about what I needed last year than what James needed. I wasn't following James' lead.

James has never liked to receive any attention. At all. He has always hated when we said "good job" to him or praised him, no matter how great the accomplishment. I think it puts too much pressure on him, but I don't know for sure. He's never told me why.

Lately his little brother has been talking about autism. I'm happy that Johnny is trying to understand it better, but James gets really upset when Johnny brings it up and he tells us in no uncertain terms to stop talking about it.

I'm trying to help James navigate it all without telling him how to feel. I don't know how much he understands because he doesn't want to talk about it, but I can tell it is on his radar. Out of the blue the other day James asked if his friend has autism. When I said yes, he told me that was good because we could bring the friend to our autism open swim at the local YMCA. It is little glimpses like this that confirm we are on the right track. It all just needs to be in his own time, and it needs to come from him.

I should follow James' lead on all of this. I want to make sure that I don't try to speak for him, because he has his own voice. And it is getting stronger every day.

So for Autism Awareness month, I am not going to draw attention to James by having a magnet on my car or shining a blue light on our front stoop. I will continue to support my son and quietly watch to see which slide he chooses to go down next. And I will follow his lead.

The Surprise Party

I looked up startled. 

I didn't just hear his name. That couldn't be him in that picture.

Not on the noon news. It was an alert for a missing child. It couldn't be. I played the clip again.

12 year old boy. Dorchester. Aspergers. The picture didn't really look like the boy I knew on first glance. But when I looked again, I saw him.

His name and an old photo. The police said he'd been missing since 8:30 am. I looked at the clock.

12:05 pm. I thought about how cold it was outside. So cold that I was talking myself out of even going for a quick run a few minutes ago. I was hoping the weather person on the news would say it was better to stay in and I'd have an excuse. I never thought I'd hear this instead.

I called his mom. No answer. I texted her: "I just saw on the news. I'm getting in my car now".

I texted a few mutual friends as I threw on my jacket. Jeanette would jump in her car to go look. I privately posted to some ASD parents who I had been talking with earlier that morning. I told them I was freaking out. It is all of our worst fear. A child with autism missing. They asked if the alert was on-line.

"I don't know. I just saw it on the news. I need to go help".

Within 30 seconds, Jim found the alert and posted the link for me to put on my wall. They all shared it immediately on their pages to their collective thousands of friends. Alysia tweeted it and got her own autism mama network out in Central MA ready to mobilize to Boston. Lexi called from RI wanting to drive up and help.

I grabbed my phone charger and a cereal bar and headed out myself. The car seat was freezing. The steering wheel hurt my hands to grip, so I unfolded my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands to steer.

How could he be outside all morning? It is only 20 degrees and the wind is so strong it stings and makes your eyes water. The news said all he had on to protect him was a fleece jacket and a baseball hat.

I drove around his neighborhood, thinking about all the recent shootings in broad daylight. I looked in the few stores nearby. I went to the zoo. I went to the Boys and Girls Club and left his description and my cell phone number. I called two of my best friends. A police officer and an EMT for the city. Both D'MAC. Autism mamas. They would know what to do. They would know where to look.

His mom texted me back with details. They had an argument on the way to the bus stop and he ran from her. She thought he'd go back to his grandmother's house, but there's been no sign of him.

"And it's T's birthday today. I can't tell him his brother is missing. He HAS to be home by the time T gets back from school".

I called her immediately. "We'll find him." I promised. "What time does T get home?"

I checked the clock. It was 1:30. I did the math in my head. I suddenly knew how to make something better, at least for now. At least for T.

"Bring T to my house after school. We're having a birthday party."

I called both my boys' schools saying something has come up and I would come get them early. I sped the 20 minutes to Johnny's school, grabbed him and went straight to the store. We ran up and down the aisles of Stop and Shop for 5 minutes, getting everything we would need for a kick-ass 9 year old boy party. Frozen pizzas, juice boxes. Cupcakes. Streamers. a ToysRUs gift card. Johnny picked out some streamer crackers and those little capsules you put in water that magically turn into sea creatures ("O-M-G" he yelled. "These are going to make the party totally awesome!")

I texted Jeanette again in the check out line. Balloons. We need them. Can you bring them?

I got a text from Alysia saying that Autism Speaks and Holly Robinson Peete were asking if there was a clearer photo to tweet. I felt incredibly grateful, but the realization that they were helping almost knocked the breath out of me. I instantly thought of all the urgent RTs I had seen from them both, all about missing children with autism. I knew the instant feeling of dread and helplessness seeing those faces and hearing those descriptions that were so familiar and, oh god, hitting so close to home even though I had never met them. But this time, it was my village. This was one of my boys. This couldn't be happening.

Johnny's excited monologue about the confetti crackers brought me back to where I needed to be, and I texted his mom to check for a photo while we walked quickly back to the car. 

On to James' school. We were cutting it close. It would take at least an hour to go across the city and back at this time of day.

Arrived at James' school. He and his friend Sean looked confused when they were brought into the office. I told them we were throwing a party for T. Cheers and screams of delight echoed through the office. The school secretary, the teacher who got the boys and I all exchanged concerned glances while they danced with joy.

Got home just in time to decorate the living room and make a sign for T, who was beyond thrilled when he arrived. Jeanette and I hugged his mom and sent her off before T saw her starting to tear up.

They spent the afternoon playing Wii and Minecraft. They "made" their sea creatures and took turns firing confetti at each other. They ran around shooting each other with foam dart guns and laughing.



When you are so rushed you don't pay attention to the party games your 7 yr old picks out,
you are bound to end up with something his sensory sensitive brother can't handle. Sorry James!

I fielded the continuous stream of texts, phone calls and FB tags asking for updates and offers to help.

4:30...5:30...6:30...

Time had never flown so fast, yet somehow everything was in slow motion.

T yelled that he was having the best birthday ever. Jeanette and I both forced a smile and avoided each other's eyes.

I stepped outside and called my officer friend back. What was the word? She gave me an update on how many officers and canine units were searching. I hugged myself for warmth and started shivering as she spoke. It was the coldest I'd felt all year and I was only outside for 2 minutes. My EMT friend texted me right after I got off the phone. She had questions, and she had ideas. What did I think?

I checked the weather when I got inside. 18 degrees. Real feel below 0. No gloves. No hat. A fleece. He had been missing for almost 12 hours now.

We had the pizza and cupcakes. Sean had to go home. There was homework to do. It was getting late.

Tony got home from work and we got a text from my officer friend. A boy fitting his description was spotted at a pizza place, but was gone when officers arrived. Tony looked at me and grabbed the keys. I felt hopeful. If Tony saw him, it would be OK. He trusted Tony.

1/2 hour later Tony came home alone. He checked every place in the plaza. Showed them a photo he took when they went to a basketball game last year that he kept on his phone. I couldn't believe I forgot about that. I called my first responder friends back. I have another photo. I'm sending it now. It might help.

T announced that his mom was the greatest because she was letting him stay out so late. 8 pm on a school night was incredible even for his birthday. I laughed as I looked away and silently pleaded. God please find him safe and bring him home. Now. Please.

T's mom called. Still no word. Tony brought T home and I tried to help the boys with their homework. It was a disaster. I gave Johnny all the answers, and wrote everything out for James. I just needed things to be easy. James got upset because he was supposed to read and it was already so late and he was going to be on yellow if he didn't do it. I promised him we would read in the morning, knowing that I would just mark it down. I had to do it. I needed them to go to sleep happy.

My EMT friend called just as I got James tucked in with his weighted blanket for the 3rd time. Her brother, a police officer, was working the case. They were trying to think of where he would go based on what her own son with autism might do if he was out there. I couldn't imagine having to consider my own child missing as part of my job to try and save people on a regular basis. I realized then she had 100 x the strength I already thought she had.

Tony got home after talking to T's mom. Still no word. I heated up leftovers and had at most 2 bites.

While I furiously exchanged texts with all our friends, we watched the 10:00 news. Banal meaningless snippets. Nothing. @Assignguy came on at about 10:25 with the same police alert photo and the same missing person announcement, and said he'd be back after the break with some other photos. I tweeted our recent photo to him. "I hope it helps" I said.  He tweeted back immediately "Thanks. Trying to get the word out".

I finally checked Facebook and Twitter and saw the incredible number of my friends and their friends who shared and commented and pleaded and prayed and offered to help search. I read Diary of a Mom's post with the link to the Boston Police Department and her message (to her almost 12,000 fans) saying "Please spread the word. This is OUR kid". Tears started flowing as I tried to write a response to all the people who were asking questions and sending prayers in the comments of her post. People I didn't know, but who were not strangers. They were all in my village. I needed to say something to them. I just didn't know what.

And just as I was about to hit send on a comment saying "thank you for your prayers", my phone rang. It was the EMT. As soon as I answered, someone else called. It was my officer friend.

"WE GOT HIM! HE IS SAFE!"

And with those words, everything was suddenly OK, and it was just T's birthday again. The way it should have been all day.

Note: I'm telling this story based solely on what it was like for me that day, because I can't even begin to comprehend what his family must have been going through. There were so many people who reached out to the family through me, or through Facebook and Twitter. People who had never met this family but offered to drive hours to come search in frigid weather, on city streets with a recent history of random shootings. It was a day during which both my real life village and my friends who live in my computer jumped to help out however best they could, and everyone I knew stopped in their tracks to figure out how to help a 12 year old boy get home.  I'm fully aware that I am the luckiest person in the world to have such incredible people in my life. His mom is not on Facebook or Twitter, so she may not realize exactly how many people came together to help her son, or the extent to which her son's photo was shared and prayed over, but please know that I will make sure she understands that she was not, and never will be, alone. She has a village of people standing by her side. A village that stretches all the way to Australia.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I check my phone for the time. Then I check the bars to make sure I have reception.

I send another text to my friend Sheri watching my boys at the pool. How are they? Is James OK?

I'm sitting outside the hotel in my car. It's 95 degrees out. I'm blasting the A/C. I turn up the music and try to play a game on my phone. I check my texts.

I'm frustrated at myself. What was I thinking? I should have stayed with the boys. I should have just brought them with me when I went to go pick up my friend who is visiting. I thought it would be a quick round trip and I would spare them sitting in Boston traffic, but his one meeting turned into another and now an hour is turning into two. That is a long time for James to be at the pool, especially without me. What if he has an anxiety attack like he did last week? What if it is even worse than last time?

I text Sheri back. Did I tell you that he has to know where you are? That if he doesn't see you when he decides to look that he will panic and think you've left him? I know full well he is in good hands. He's been at her house countless times, and now he is at a familiar place with her and her son, and my friend Patty and her daughter. Autism mamas both of them. My support group. My village.

But I still worry. Familiar doesn't mean safe. Not to James. And this is too soon. Something is going to go wrong.

I try to think about how psyched I am to see my friend. The visits are few and far between. We get to hang out with my family all afternoon. As soon as we get back that is. My mind goes back to the day at the pool when I was saying goodbye to someone and James couldn't see me. Two minutes later I saw him with the manager, crying and trembling. "I thought you left me" he cried into my shirt.

I turn off the A/C and roll down the windows. The hot air doesn't bother me because I feel like I can't breathe anyway. It actually makes me feel better to be physically uncomfortable too.

Yes, we'll have fun together tonight. If James is OK.

I know how lucky I am. Lucky to be able to leave him with a friend for a few hours. Lucky that James can tell me what is so upsetting and ask for help. But although I recognize how blessed I am to have these luxuries, it doesn't seem to make it any easier. For either of us. And it doesn't make him less affected by autism than anyone else who is on the spectrum. 

James doesn't know what is going to cause him to panic. He can't determine what is a real life threat and what is an impossibility. Once the panic sets in, he can't stop it from completely suffocating him. I wrote about his fears here in this post last year. Nothing has changed since then.

I never stop thinking about him and worrying about when the panic is going to take hold. He can go for a week without an anxiety meltdown, only to have it come out of the blue with the kind of force that takes us both down with a single blow.

And it is back. With a vengeance. The incessant worrying at bedtime about every sound he hears conjures images of airplanes flying into the house and fires trapping him in his room away from us. He can't make his mind quiet from the fear. When he wakes up in the middle of the night every night, these are the images that haunt him. He is alone. He is trapped.

So we lay awake together each night, me quietly reassuring him that he is safe and nothing will happen to him. That I will protect him always. And he finally falls asleep, exhausted and drained. I lay awake, worrying enough for both of us.

I hear from my friend. "I'm sorry" he says. "It might be another half hour". He shouldn't be sorry. It was my idea to come down before he called with the hopes that he'd be done early.

I take his advice and go into Nordstrom to wander around. I walk past the cosmetic counter, baffled by the well dressed women sitting in chairs, gabbing while they try on different shades of blush and compare beauty secrets. How do they make it look so easy? Why aren't they rushing through their makeovers to get back to their kids? I go into the shoe department. I can handle that. I see a cool pair of sneakers and am just about to ask for my size when I see 2 other people waiting in front of me for a salesperson. I can't wait that long. I check my phone again.

I go up the escalator and start wandering through racks of clothes. Touching each piece as a I walk by, looking straight past each one. I don't realize I've stopped and am holding up a shirt until I hear a distant voice "Excuse me?"

Confused, I look towards my phone first. It doesn't sound like it could have come from there, but I'm kind of in a fog. "Sweetie?" I look up and there is a woman in front of me.

"I don't think you noticed you are in the Plus sized section. I think you should be over in Misses". I look in the direction she is pointing. I nod. Give a stifled laugh.

I put the shirt down and start moving in that direction, just to please her. I walk straight through and back out to my car. I think about all the times I've been abruptly pulled back into awareness from my fog.

By the time my friend calls to tell me he is done, I'm already back at the hotel, waiting in the circle at the hotel. Ready to get back home so I can be there to calm the fear when it returns.