Pizza on Friday

For years, I kept a large chalkboard on the wall beside our refrigerator that listed out the days of the week and the corresponding meal. I wasn’t always fabulous about keeping Saturday through Thursday up to date, but as long as Friday remained a solid, guaranteed pizza night, things in our home tended to operate with relative peace. I became religious about Friday. Whether homemade, frozen, dining out, or picking up (no one delivers to our part of the county), deep dish, hand-tossed, self-rising, flatbread, or French bread… hell or high water, we had pizza on Friday.

And then, as it does, time took over. Our family grew by two. Days became increasingly complicated with school, work, and extracurricular activities; and life, along with dinner plans, would often get the better of me. The chalkboard became an even less reliable source of dependable information. “Pizza on Friday” became more of an ideological construct than a consistent event in our lives. It came to be understood among our family, and especially to Raimee, that there would most likely be pizza on Friday, but some weeks it might be pizza on Wednesday, or Sunday, or pizza for lunch instead of at the end of the day. And, although it took a bit of time to settle into that, Raimee eventually came to understand that that was okay. His need to be able to predict and depend on a pre-planned menu dissolved into the ordinary type of inquiries that a family member might have about what they could (or could not) look forward to on their plate around 7 p.m. The world was not going to fall apart.

And then it did.

The past few years have had a lot of really beautiful and magical moments, but I would say, and I know my family would agree, that overall, and like so many others around the globe, we experienced some of the most difficult and debilitating times of our lives.

Along with the pandemic and the subsequent shutdown, my mother-in-law, who was undergoing treatment for cancer, unexpectedly moved in with us, adding to a familial dynamic that was already incredibly heavy. She passed away a year later and my husband and I, after a 32-year partnership, separated. My two beautiful teenage kids fell into the pandemic upheaval along with a majority of their peers. Raimee was without a supported living provider, and I was juggling his support needs, the farm operations, and my life, which seemed to be crumbling into bits and pieces all around me.

The non-autistic members of my family, myself included, sought emotional refuge in talk therapy, alcohol, exercise, and music. We did a lot of soul-searching and attempted to find solace in various forms of self-care. But amidst all the chaos, there was Raimee. This precious human who has always struggled to understand, or at least to verbally communicate that he comprehends, the complexities of the world around him, not to mention an environment that no longer represented any sort of familiar semi-solidarity.

We had “conversations” that resembled attempts to explain the state of things, but never seemed to land in any meaningful way. We were keeping our heads above water and trying to hold Raimee’s hands in the process. And so it was in that space that we found we could provide one small sense of stability for Raimee, by returning to something as incredibly simple as pizza on Friday.

And that became the thing. We turned to this tiny ritual and discovered within it a grounding energy and basic assurance that offered a level of calm and comfort transcending bread and cheese. Every Friday, no matter how turbulent the week had been, he knew that he could count on pizza. It became more than just a meal; it was a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the midst of upheaval, we could create a moment of normalcy in Raimee’s week.

And so “Pizza on Friday” became a sort of anchor. It was a small but powerful gesture that told Raimee that despite all the changes and disruption in our lives, some things could be relied upon to remain constant. It provided a small example to demonstrate that stability doesn’t always come from grand gestures or perfect plans; sometimes, peace can be found in the simple traditions that transport our spirits to reminders of easier days.

Over the course of this past year, we have made it a priority to stay consistent with this one aspect of our lives. We are not always together, but we keep a healthy supply of pizzas in the freezer. What’s especially interesting is how “pizza on Friday” has evolved into an expression that means something entirely different than its literal interpretation.

Whenever Raimee and I engage in a conversation that feels hard or nuanced in ways that he cannot immediately process, he interrupts me and asks “Pizza on Friday?” Some mornings, he comes by the house and wakes me up to whisper in my ear, “Mom? Pizza on Friday?” And I’ve learned that what he is really asking has absolutely nothing to do with pizza; it’s become an acknowledgement of the incredibly enduring power of routine. For Raimee, it’s a story of how, even when everything else falls apart, the simplest things can hold us together. It’s his mantra that means “things are going to be okay.”

And I am so incredibly happy to report that they truly are. Here's an update:

Although it took a bit more than Italian-inspired comfort food, my husband and I started working with a professional who is the therapeutic equivalent of Albus Dumbledore, and in early June, Keith moved back home. My two teenagers are both headed to college this fall (27 days… but who’s counting?) I’m absolutely thrilled for both of them. About 8 weeks ago, Raimee welcomed two new housemates into his residence and they are wonderfully and thoughtfully providing daily support both in the home and on the farm. And we adopted kittens.

The days feel full of hope. I feel full of hope. And I like to think that the peace that has made its way back into our lives is somehow living and growing in the flowers we send out into the world. How grateful I am to have these constant daily reminders that miracles happen all the time, and that beauty in abundance is always surrounding me.

Regardless of the weather or the season, if I need to connect to external inspiration it is always there, waiting just outside my door. If I need to ground my body and my heart, I can sit in the woods or lie in the grass. I can fill my house with music, surround myself with friends, get lost inside a book, or make my way down to the river. And if, for some reason, that is not enough for me, it’s nice to know that I can always look forward to pizza on Friday.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me, for holding space for me, and for being a source of encouragement and light along the way.

With love,

Rebecca, Raimee, and the Blawesome Crew

(& big hugs to Matthew Chenet for the beautiful photo)