“Mom, I’m 55 with an arrow straight down. I already had a juice.” I listened to Micah’s voice, as I stood in our sunny kitchen miles from where he was at school. His urgency and anxiety seemed to transfer into my own body. (Note: Micah’s optimal blood sugar range is between 80mg/dL and 130mg/dL). It […]
I’m sitting, laptop open upon my knees, on a splintery reddish-brown step off the deck of our lake cabin. The man who was scheduled to stain it earlier this summer never came. We’ll wait until next spring, Todd tells me. Now, in mid-August, the flaking, fading wood has gotten worse. Today, it feels like fall
It is a beautiful evening at Bluestem Center for the Arts, a lush expansive riverside acreage in Moorhead, MN that is home to Trollwood Performing Arts School. It’s also where Micah has spent most of his days this summer. A few months ago, I’d enrolled him in a few acting classes at Trollwood Academy. Today
Occasionally, I am asked this question: “Were you aware of Micah’s special needs when you adopted him?” “No, we weren’t,” I’ll say. “It was a gradual knowing. He was delayed in his development, didn’t speak until almost four years old. We received his first diagnosis when he was three: PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder-not otherwise specified).
I’m in the balcony of a large sports complex looking over a green railing. Down below, amidst the energy and positivity created by the upbeat music and many volunteers, athletes are getting ready for the first event. This is the second day of Able Games 2023, a functional fitness competition for athletes of all abilities,
I sit at our long wood dining table drinking steaming coffee from my favorite pink-with-flowers mug. It’s a frigid January morning, but I am energized by the natural light that fills our home. A health insurance website is open on my laptop; I search to find Micah’s information–the coverage on his CGM and insulin pump–but
I will always remember the first time I laid eyes on Micah. I entered the NICU through large glass doors. Jody, the adoption counselor, explained he was here as a precautionary measure due to swallowing some amniotic fluid during birth. His oxygen levels had to be monitored for a few days. I hadn’t taken more
A tall skinny Christmas tree stands in front of black-trimmed floor to ceiling windows in our sunroom. I stand in front of it removing ornaments from the artificial branches. The windows, which cover three of the room’s four walls, separate me from the sea of snow that covers last summer’s lush green grass, long bluish-green
It was early Saturday, a bitter cold December morning. Todd, Sammi, Micah, and I headed South on I-94 in a black pickup truck. We drank our coffee (Micah had milk) from our Yetis and ate homemade cherry coffee cake with plastic forks, wiping our hands and mouths with white paper towels. We gasped at the
Micah and I sit in cushioned chairs in the church balcony, our backs against the wall. We’ve been coming to this spacious church for almost twenty years and have sat in this row most Sundays ever since Micah was a toddler. We are early, alone at the far end of our row (Todd is still