Thirteen Years and a Thousand Sacrifices
Dante is my oldest son, he's turning 13! And while everyone else might celebrate it as the beginning of the teen years, I’m here sitting with the quiet truth that his childhood is over, not in a dramatic way, but in a way that hurts if you look too closely. Because Dante’s childhood wasn’t just bikes and birthday parties. It was therapy clinics and hospital corridors. It was me wrapping him in cotton wool cause I was terrified something bad might happen to him. It was watching his brother’s legs get braced in AFOs while his own questions went unanswered. It was learning to entertain himself in the corner of a room while the spotlight was on someone else. It was missing out. Quietly. Repeatedly. Without complaint. He’s the boy who gave up Saturday sports so we could all go to inclusive games instead. The boy who learned to cheer for someone else’s milestones while tucking away his own. The boy who carried the emotional weight of our family’s reality before he had the words to compre...