Most days I look like I’ve got this disability thing down. Like it doesn’t hurt as much as the early days. Like I’m confident and at peace with what is.

The truth is, your child’s losses never become less painful, you just adjust to living with a new level of pain. And you make peace with that. You quit fighting the pain and learn how to live with it. How to leverage joy out of dark places.

So when you’re standing in the library and you feel your eyes burning, you don’t tell yourself to get over it. You just ride it out, knowing the sharpness will subside. You let the tears come as you watch all the other kids run around, knowing you’re not a basket-case, but that pain is real and sharp and sometimes it crests in the oddest places.

And when you get home, you walk in your son’s room, and you tell him you love him. That you’re sorry. And you try not to let tears fall on his face.

Then you get up and you make dinner, read stories and carry on. As if you have this whole disability thing down.


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