It was another bad night. I don't want to go into all the details, but I think it's enough to say that my son had a complete meltdown that culminated with him spitting in my face. I don't mean metaphorically. I'm talking about warm frothy rheum rolling down my cheek like a snail on the wall of an aquarium. I think it was a new low in my life.
I've decided to stop writing about it. I've realized that sharing my suffering is just that -- it's letting other people go through it too. In my constant ups and downs, backs and forths, happiness and misery, I'm dragging other people with me. Particularly, I'm dragging along those who care about me the most, and that is simply not fair.
This is a burden I will have to bear alone, by myself, and privately. I'll put on my happy face and slog forward as best I can. I want the few special people (who should know who they are) to know that I love them, and I'm glad they've been a part of my life. And to my wife: I'll never stop loving you.
Thank you for watching me heal. I'm sorry we couldn't finish the journey.