Puffy eyes, a dripping, sniffling nose, tiny and multiple bumps that remind me of hills on his face.  It’s either an allergic reaction or an allergy, which is the same thing, isn’t it?

In some ways, the canvas of my son’s beautiful face made only more beautiful can be fixed by something diagnosed, something prescribed.  In other ways, the rumple in our lives that comes with spring is a reminder of how this wonderful son has things happening in him that I’ll never see, never be able to control, never be able to change.

Seeing him helps me see that as he grows, I must grow.  Grow to surrender that daily lie I live into so well: that I control any of this experience called raising a child.  I have a part and I’ll play it.  But there’s someone else in control.  That’s the hope and that’s the worse feeling in the world.

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