I can accept and still wonder...

Eleven years ago, we were given a diagnosis that changed the trajectory of our lives.

We were handed a small piece of paper with information from the medical literature. At the time, there were only seven known cases published.

I remember the loneliness of that day. The confusion. The sudden void that opened beneath us when we realized there was no roadmap, no community waiting for us, no one who could really tell us what the future might hold.

I feel an incredible amount of grace when I look at the life that has grown from that day. And still, grief creeps in sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder about the life we might have had. A life with less worry. Less advocacy. Fewer appointments, therapies, battles and unknowns. A life without the particular kind of heartache that can come with watching your child work so hard for things that come easily to others.

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been if that piece of paper had never been handed to us.

Because Yara's diagnosis didn't just change her life.

It changed mine.

It changed my career, my priorities, my relationships, how I see the world, what I fight for, what I notice, and what I believe matters.

And perhaps one of the biggest lessons of these 11 years is that I don't have to choose between being grateful for this life and wondering about another one.

I can feel tremendous grace for the people we've met, the community we've built, the work we've been able to do, and most of all, for the extraordinary human being Yara is.

And I can still grieve.

I can love this child beyond measure and still acknowledge that disability has brought heartache into our lives.

I can accept and still wonder.