Just one good day

I don't care what you call it. I don't care if you shout it from the mountain tops or whisper it in my ear. I don't care if my insurance covers it, I don't care if it breaks the bank.

Will someone please just help my son. For the love of God. There is something not right and because I don't have the little letters after my damn name doesn't mean I can't be right. The only little letters you need to know are M-O-M.

If he had a broken leg you could fix it. If he needed a heart transplant you could fix it. But somewhere in there, in the grayest matter, somewhere in the ganglions and synapses, something isn't right. I can see it, I can. His teachers can point to it and write all about what does and how it changes him. They can tell you that he bites himself, that he pulls out his hair, that he bangs his head on the floor, that he throws himself around as if he were made out of rubber. And now, that isn't enough. He is hurting other kids now. And that scares the hell out of me.

I don't know the terminology, I don't care too much about six syllable words, I just see a little guy who deserves ONE good day. Just one.



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