MOTHER'S DAY

Caution: This blog may contain honesty.

Today, my adult daughter who has Autism celebrated Mother's Day with me. She is generous to a fault. I do not think you could find another more authentically generous daughter. Isabel lives to think about others. Her gifts are literally from the heart, though not necessarily what you would want. Therein is the rub. She showers me literally with presents, though, if I had a choice, I would select just one of a finer quality. But, I do not decide the forms of generosity and love. The giver and maybe, God, do.

As I told my friend yesterday, after we were introduced to two young people who were "different," we live in an area where the definitions for acceptable are limited. One must be intelligent, smooth, nuanced, quick, stylish, thin, and current. I was formed by such a narrow definition of "normal," since I grew up in another large "sophisticated" metropolis. My neighborhood, schools, and social groups were characterized by the "ins" and "outs." This experience led to lifelong anxiety about not being "weird." Of course, other factors led to my adult issues, but that is another story.

Thankfully, we have grown as a society, and our definitions of "normal" have expanded. The advances occurred due to the inclusion of African Americans, Asians, Gay, and now Trans people into our society. People with physical and cognitive challenges are now partially accepted.

So back to Mother's Day. Isabel is more excited to give presents than to receive them, though she enjoys gifts like the rest of us. She came home early today from her father's house, called me into the kitchen--after preparing an excellent cup of coffee--and literally dumped a bag of goodies onto the counter. Lotions, sprays, soaps, all in strawberry scent, along with strawberry ice cream kisses, and a romance novel spilled forth. (She knows I love strawberries and books.)

As I mentioned above, I would pick one lotion and one serious literary fiction novel. But I am a decidedly snobbish elite. And her Autism has made her concrete and literal. In my better moments, which thankfully are most of the time now, I realize that the thought counts. That point has been drilled into me by Isabel.

So Isabel or God have put me in my place. It had to be them. No one else would be bold and pure enough to do the job. Neither have ulterior motives.

I ask you to seriously think about this Blog. Isabel has helped form me as an adult. I will still get literary fiction, fine products, and visit gourmet markets. But I know generosity. My grandmother Kaethe was like Isabel, though she did not have Autism. Maybe generosity skips a few generations and is passed through the air. Isabel is adopted and never knew Omi Kaethe, who suffered from chronic Depression. Perhaps, I modeled some generosity as Isabel grew up. Maybe one has to be on the edges of what we call typical, to be truly giving.

I am not glossing over the difficulties of living with a disability, for the one who suffers and those close to them. When it comes to generosity, Isabel has cornered the market, no doubt there.

©Karen Levi 2026