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

Dear Insulin Pump, I’m not going to give up on you. We’ve had a couple rough starts when you’ve frazzled my nerves and rattled my confidence. Nevertheless, I promise not to throw in the towel again like I did with the first pump we tried last year. It was Christmas Eve, and whether we had

I am on a walk. It’s very long and often lonely. Although I cry out to God for help throughout my journey, I still search for a blueprint, the footsteps of other special needs parents who have walked a similar path. How do I advocate? Am I doing it right in this situation? Am I

You sat down in the first brown pew on the right side of the church, your grandfather’s blond oak casket in front of you slightly to the left. You remained there even though we—Todd, Sammi, and I—were three rows back. You weren’t afraid, not like I would have been at age fifteen. Then again you

I sit on the back of a bumblebee-colored jet ski, the cushion long and bright yellow. Todd is up front, steering wheel in hand, Micah the hot dog in-between us. We are traveling at high speed over gray-blue water. I feel the wind rush at my face, my hair blow back. I inhale the glorious