I cried when he turned one and I knew heart surgery was on the horizon. I cried when he turned five and we were fighting with the public schools. When he turned 11, and…Why did I cry when he turned 11?
I sat next to my dad and said, “My birthdays don’t bother me. His make me a wreck.”
“That’s because you’re getting old.” My father suggested with his normal tact and compassion.
No, that wasn’t it. It was the unknown.