09/19/2025
🎂 🎉 🎁
Full disclosure: a long, overdue, vulnerable post.
My son and I have been on quite a ride the last seven years. Life has always been hard for both of us in different ways. Most of you know my story with mastocytosis; it is what it is, and you learn to keep going, just like everyone else has struggles.
My son was diagnosed with autism at an early age. He’s always been determined and a little bit of a perfectionist, and with the help of teachers, doctors, and our family, he did well for a long time. Then, about seven years ago, everything changed. It felt like the doors of hell had opened. He didn’t just have autism, he also developed depression. Then suicidal thoughts. Then anxiety. And then paranoid schizophrenia.
There were hospital stays, periods of improvement that didn’t last, COVID, attempts at independent living that didn’t work, long hospital stays in California, and seasons when we didn’t hear from him at all. There were times we thought the Lord was moving in his life; then a call from the hospital would bring us back down to earth. I still remember the day people who worked with Ethan found him in his apartment. He lived through it, but he was suffering: anger, fear, confusion, voices, hopelessness, even violence. It was painful to witness…blood, screaming, broken things…and moms always get the worst of it, don’t we? 😂
Hindsight is 20/20. While I was dealing with my own things, I can now see how God prepared me; placing people in our path, positioning me in my career and faith so I could withstand that storm.
When Ethan was finally released and came home, we didn’t know what to expect. Would he be able to talk, work, or take care of himself? But by the grace of God, he has done those things and more.
And then, a few months ago, Ethan got a bike. Big deal! I was working late a lot the last couple days and would sometimes hear him awake upstairs at odd hours. I dismissed it as insomnia. Then I noticed two big boxes of strawberries in the fridge and thought, “Weird… he must have a berry craving.” Yesterday my husband texted to tell me the mystery was solved and to go upstairs, but take my time. Ugh.
I came upstairs and my heart broke wide open with joy. Ethan had made me a birthday cake. I hadn’t even realized he knew when my birthday was. How many nights did he plan this? How many bike rides to Walmart with only a backpack to carry cake mix, eggs, milk, frosting, decorations? And the best part — instead of writing “Happy Birthday,” he wrote what my heart most wanted: “You’re a saint.” How did he know?
Small moments like that, made from struggle and courage are everything. Thank you to everyone who has walked with us. God is good, and grace is real.
