One day, in a nondescript office building in Portland, three adults give something to Tess. And she comes alive.
Taking some time this week to reflect on community. The one we've built and continue to build, and what it means for Tess and our family.
If you have a kid with disabilities, your life is full of stuff you'd perhaps rather not do. Go to a million appointments, wind up in hospitals, deal with paperwork. But there are three letters that create more dread than nearly everything else.
I'm in the bleachers at a field. I watch two opposing lacrosse players collide with a massive crunch that's audible from the stands. Many parents gasp. I don't. I just watch in dismay and disbelief.