“I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m really grieving this year,” a good friend says to me as we stand in the grocery aisle holding cans of soup on a Tuesday afternoon.  “I get it. I’ve been feeling that way for the last two or three years,” I tell her, my eyes […]

On Sunday morning, Micah and I sit across from each other at the white-topped island in our kitchen. We eat fluffy yellow scrambled eggs, oven-crisped bacon, and wheat toast with low-sugar apricot jam. I bring my flowered pink coffee mug to my lips and look at my son, still in his navy plaid flannel pajama

In six months, Micah will be eighteen. In six months, he will be able to make important life decisions without our supervision. In six months, he could leave home and try to live without our protection. In six months, he could decide he wants to manage his diabetes care by himself. In six months, he

Micah has always had a passion for movies. It’s a rare day when he doesn’t talk about some character or scene or song from a soundtrack. He especially enjoys talking about actors. Tom Holland, the latest SpiderMan, is a recent favorite, not to mention the late Chadwick Boseman, who played the main character in the

“Do you want to say prayers tonight?” I sit next to Micah on the edge of his royal blue not-nearly-long-enough bed and take his hand in mine. Our black lab mix, Midnight, stares at me with her big brown eyes as she rests her head on the pillow next to him. The sight of them

“Make sure you check your blood sugar before going on stage,” I told Micah as I pulled next to the curb closest to the performing arts wing of his high school. The sun was just peaking above the horizon at 7:00 a.m., the hour the theater director had called his cast and crew. This morning

“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).