My Favorite Person

Next month will mark three years since my son moved to a supported living community. I’m glad he’s home every weekend plus vacations. 

This has been a year of ups and downs — but I know he is growing and meeting lots of new friends and staff. His living there is a wise investment in his future. Even so, my heart hurts sometimes when he’s gone. 

Last Saturday, before he went to bed, I cuddled with him. 

“I’m excited that you’ll be home extra days for Labor Day and in the next few months for the holidays,” I told him.

Mark is verbal and has small conversations — but when he’s really happy he makes little “Mark sounds” that say “I’m relaxed” in a way that words never could. They mean “I’m with Mom — and we are very close.” 

When I told him about the upcoming holidays, Mark made those sounds.

“Don’t tell Ali or Dad that I said this, but you may be my favorite person in the whole world,” I said.

I wondered if he would tell me he loves me, as he sometimes does.

That night he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “I want a strawberry granola bar tomorrow.”

That may not sound “loving.” 

That may sound “instrumental.” 

But I know it means that he knows I know what he likes, even when he doesn’t know the formal name for it — and I feel happy and honored that I do. 

Mark’s inner circle is small, but on that night I felt as if I was his favorite.