The sun is smiling, reaching us through the slats of our open blinds. It begs us to get up, out and start this precious last weekend day. It's nearly noon. But my long-legged daughter with autism is still swaddled in a purple comforter, asleep on her bed. I go to her side, thinking, once again, how childlike she seems. Right now she's doing the typical teenager thing, of course. Sleeping at the wrong end of a day.

My thoughts sort back through the files of time, noticing a reoccurring theme. Yesterday, by fluke of poor timing, we ended up at Target with seemingly every other parent and every student at every area university. (There's a lot of them in my town here.) Near the school supplies aisle, a bored Dad stood beside his daughter's cart, his wife scanning the aisles. I saw at him watching my daughter. Later his wife would point me to the direction my daughter headed when, unnoticed by me, she left my side. Frantic, I began calling her name and searching for her and found her in the card aisles, rocking to a musical version. I allowed her to select a card and shepherded her to our aisle of origin. The same couple was still there, their cart, overflowing, still parked next to mine. They didn't stare. They didn't ignore. They just shopped alongside of us. My daughter's differences were and are quite evident. I wondered if they thought about the contrast in our lives. I bet they did. I did as I walked yet more isles and saw more families preparing their older teens to embark on their college journey.

I didn't grieve. I didn't really feel sad. After 14 years on the autism track, this stuff is old hat….I just noticed. And, as I stroked the sweet face of the 17-year-old sprawled out in her bed just now, I thought about how it is always going to be this way. Yes, she's growing up. Yes, her age-peers will move on to pursue continued education and careers. She'll have her own journey through work, through art, through life and living. And, on many levels, she will always be a child. At times, admittedly, this feels burdensome. I choose not to concentrate of that. As I lie beside her I think about this tender moment and that I will always be blessed with a girl who gives love so freely, who always, within her, has the sweet, innocent spirit of a child. Forever.