You think you’re a generous person. Then something like this happens and you realize you’ve traipsed through a blessed and oblivious life.
Family and friends are on heavy grilled-cheese duty, putting lives on hold to wrap Evan in cheerful routine. They mow our lawn, transplant ailing cherry trees and keep our twin-inspired addition, kitchen-gutting and clapboard restoration on track (gluttons for punishment, we are). They send spaghetti and cinnamon muffins and risotto, and gift certificates for sushi and italian food, or come by to share pots of tea and company.
Many of you have shared stories of twin-life and NICU-life and survival and loss and faith. Others have simply sent one line: I’m sorry for you. This all just sucks. It's full of good-salts, like miso soup on a hangover. I can’t thank you enough.