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I wish that I had started writing to you earlier. And this wish is not to eliminate a general plaintive cry over lost time. Why the wish? I could have written earlier to form a different, possibly more enduring connection to you. I did not. But I start now. Please know that I now write…
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Five years since diagnosis, a moment in time replete with dark, challenging, stressful feelings but a time to see first hand just how much stronger kids can be. Me? I was a hot mess, mixed in with much needed healthy doses of stoic practicality. We needed to do the insulin injections as she cried with…
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For most, the number, twenty-nine, represents a count of something: years, dollars, tweet views, whatever. I too attach a meaning to this number but it is one that I assume is rather unique in this world. Twenty-nine represents the time I almost killed my daughter. Only a couple of months removed from her diagnosis with…
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Meredith Willson did say it well, in his holiday classic, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas“: A pair of Hopalong boots and a pistol that shootsIs the wish of Barney and BenDolls that’ll talk and will go for a walkIs the hope of Janice and JenAnd Mom and Dad can hardly wait for…