Once he is done with his breakfast, Broden will put on his jacket and walk into the garage, open the back door of the car and sit in his seat to wait on me. He will leave his door open because he knows I need to load his backpack into the car and lay it on the floorboard at his feet. Once he sees that our car is loaded, he will put his seatbelt on and allow me to shut the door.

On the drive to clinic, Broden expects music to be playing on the radio. If it's not loud enough, he'll tell me to turn it up. If he hears a song he likes and I change the channel, I will see him in the review mirror look at the radio in disgust. This is when I know that I need to change the radio back to the song we just heard. I already know there are songs that need louder volume. If Journey, Adele, Eminem, Carole King, Barry Manilow, or Def Leppard are playing, I better turn it up so he can truly feel the music. It's expected. It's structure. It's comfort. It's what I can provide him as his mother. It's something I can control by knowing that I have been able to start my son's day so he can feel safe and he can feel some sort of control in his life.

Once his RBT (Registered Behavior Technician) comes out the door to greet us at our car, Broden will say their names out loud. He knows who they are and trusts them. Broden knows that he will take his backpack and walk up the stairs to his work area and build a schedule for the day. There will be structure and expectations that will most likely be met. Broden knows that at the end of the day, I will be waiting for him and he will see me standing by the car to greet him as he's escorted out of the building by his RBT. I witness the comfort on his face as he walks towards me in the parking lot. He's thinking, "Mom is here because she's where she's supposed to be, every single day".

I think back to those images of Ukrainian children, especially the boy gripping the bowl of noodles as his mother watches him eat. I see the look in his mother's eyes. She desperately wants to provide structure for her child. She wants to provide comfort for him and be able to tell him what is going to happen next, but she can't. She can only grip his hand and tell him that she

will do whatever she can to keep him safe in the hopes of someday being able to go back home for structure, comfort, and freedom that they seek. We live each day holding on to what we can control. We hold on to what we can provide our children so they know what is going to happen next. The comfort in our children's eyes is comfort to us as parents. When will the mothers and fathers of Ukraine be able to provide this for their children again? This is what the world hopes for, freedom for Ukraine. Freedom for Ukrainian people to live freely and provide structure and comfort for their children again. •

PUZZLES & CAMO

Shelly Huhtanen is an Army wife stationed at Fort Jackson, SC. She enjoys sharing her experiences of her day-to-day life caring for her son with autism. Shelly authored Giving a Voice to the Silent Many" that encompasses many stories of raising a child with autism in the military. She also teaches Public Communication at the University of South Carolina and has contributed to EP Magazine for over 10 years.