My worriometer is going down. Benjamin has been going to his internship for over a week, and there have been no incidents, other than the forgotten pills escapade. Which was my doing I might add. 

I have little knowledge of what he does all day, except for the scant description "training". Plus he is not forthcoming when he gets home. Which is standard issue for many young men, autism aside. 

Yesterday I channeled my heartfelt wishes that he do well into a simple task. I ironed. In high school there was no expectation that he wear anything fancier than a t-shirt and shorts. But this is a place of business and they made it clear he should play the part. Plus he does look pretty sharp with a crisp crease down his long legs. Shirt tucked in, his badge clipped to the breast pocket. 

I thought about my own father, and how I ironed for him. Sometimes he wore two shirts in one day if he was counseling in the morning and leading a class in the evening. He had read once that JFK changed shirts midday and took that as permission to follow suit. 

Some people cringe at the task. But I enjoy it. Things look so much better after a good press. Sprinkle a little water and it is like magic. My iron is always set up in the sewing room so there is no hassle involved. 

There are people in our lives who face challenges. While it is not ours to scoop them up and whisk them over such scariness, there are often quiet ways we can be supportive. Sit with them. Not let our angst bleed all over their feet. Pray. Hold them in our hearts from twenty miles away. 

It's just enough to keep me too distracted to jack up the worriometer.