Yesterday was a semi-sweet day for me. (Funny how I describe it in food terminology, actually not really considering how much I love chocolate!)
As we walked out of our Wednesday night routine of Awana's, this time leaving ALL the kids in cubbies or sparks, I noticed that my Autism ribbon was missing from my car. Now I know it was there earlier when I went into the Strictly Scrapbooking and when I went to the car repair shop to pay for my husbands car. This stinks. I know that it was probably taken my a group of teens or tweens who were just messing around, but it still stinks. My husband gave me his, which makes me sad that he won't have it but I know he is not as upset about it as I am.
The number of ribbons that I see for autism on cars grows more and more and I guess when I had mine I felt like I was a part of a group of people who cared and were proud. A group of people that had a story to tell and although I didn't know what or who they knew that was effected by Autism, I related to them and could flash them a smile or catch their eye and share a comforting, understanding nod. I don't know...I guess I just felt very proud to have it and to have been blessed to have known and love someone on the spectrum.
Well this is the third ribbon that I have had in a year and a half, and I will be ordering more because although someone may have my ribbon hanging up in their room next to a rock or rap poster, they can't take my story, my heartfelt emotion or my passion to represent those who hurt and are a daily reminder of disease.
I read all ribbon clings on cars and think of all the stories that coincide with each and everyone. The women who proudly stick a pink ribbon on their car right before they drive for the first time in months, those parents who proudly and fearfully place their camo ribbon on their car as they pray for their children who fight for our country. And especially all the faded "WE WILL NOT FORGET" ribbons. Although faded nothing can change to power behind them.
OK, sorry for starting to morning off on such a melancholy note. I had to get it off my chest.
I can only hope that this one lasts me longer and that eventually medical wonders will be able to figure out just how to make the ribbons become fewer.