Adapting, Overcoming, and Holding On

It’s been harder and harder to make myself sit down and write a new blog post. Sometimes the days feel so full — physically, emotionally — that by the time I have a quiet moment, I don’t have much left to give.

But then Wyatt will look up at me and say, “Mom, I just love you.” And somehow, that’s enough to steady my heart.

Some days are heavier than others. His needs can feel like so much. It’s exhausting in ways that are hard to explain unless you’re living it. There are moments when I’m right on the edge of saying, “I just need a minute.” And almost every time, without fail, he thanks me for helping him. Those simple words — “thank you, Mom” — fill my heart even when it feels like it’s breaking.

I worry about the continued decline in his upper motor strength, even with the trial treatment. It’s harder now for him to pick up his fork. His body gets tired more quickly. Many mornings, breakfast happens in bed. A lot of evenings, dinner does too. He’s figured out an adaptation that works for him — I sit him up on his elbow so he’s closer to the plate. That way he doesn’t have to lift his arm all the way from his lap to his mouth. It’s not how it used to be. But it works.

And that’s the thing about Wyatt — just when I start to feel like things are getting harder, he finds a way to impress me.

Lately, he’s been spending his days cleaning antique pieces we’ve had around the house. Watching him focus, problem-solve, and carefully work around his limitations is nothing short of amazing. He figures out what he can do, and he does it. If he drops something, Wrigley is right there to help.

We may have challenges, but we also have teamwork.

I still have days when it hits me all over again — my son won’t ever walk again. That truth doesn’t get easier just because time passes. But alongside that grief, I get to witness something powerful. I watch him adapt. I watch him overcome. I watch him grow more comfortable with the changes happening in his body.

And maybe one of the most beautiful things lately has been seeing him ask Ava for help. Seeing him trust someone besides me. Seeing him open his world just a little wider.

This journey isn’t easy. It isn’t linear. It’s filled with worry and exhaustion and moments that take my breath away in the hardest ways. But it’s also filled with resilience, creativity, gratitude, and love that runs deeper than I ever knew possible.

The hard days are real. But so are the beautiful ones.

And for now, the “Mom, I just love you” is more than enough to keep me going