When I was five years old, a neighbor friend and I decided to run away. I made it to the end of our driveway when our next door neighbor, known for his early morning hours spent manicuring his lawn, noticed me and asked what I was doing outside at 5am. I don't think I even responded, but I high-tailed it back to the house. I was grounded for a week. In the 38 years since then, I never thought about how my parents felt about my near run away. I don't remember what injustices lead my friend and me to think it was a good idea to leave the comfort of our homes and hit the road. I can't seem to remember a plan either. I do know that I wore my fancy blue shoes. Last week, I received a text from a neighborhood friend saying that I needed to call her immediately. She found Sean walking down the street from her house and picked him up. By the time I got the message, Sean was safely in school and all was fine. This story is pieced together mostly from what Sean shared with me and
These stories describe our journey with Ben, our oldest son. Ben is a sweet and energetic redhead, born with Rett Syndrome, a rare genetic mutation. My husband, Ryan, and I try to keep up with Ben and his two younger brothers. I intend to shed insight into raising a child with disabilities and pass on the wisdom we’ve earned over the past two decades.