06/02/2026
This letter came home with Noah today.
To most people, it looks like random words scattered across a page. But when you’re the parent of a child who can’t always tell you what’s happening inside their mind, you learn to pay attention to things others might miss.
For years, Noah could communicate more clearly. He could speak, write, and organize his thoughts. Today, his writing tells a different story.
The sentences jump from one thought to another. Rules, emotions, impulses, and random ideas all tangled together on a single page. To most people, it’s scribbles. To me, it’s a glimpse into a brain that is struggling.
Parents of children with special needs become detectives. We look for clues in their drawings, writing, behaviors, sleep, moods, and eyes. When communication is limited, these little things become their voice.
We’ve spent more than a decade fighting for Noah’s health and supporting his brain. We’ve celebrated victories and setbacks. But healing isn’t always linear, and puberty has been one of the hardest chapters yet.
The behaviors are bigger. The child is bigger. The challenges are bigger.
And yet, this letter reminds me that Noah is still in there trying. Trying to make sense of the world. Trying to communicate. Trying to navigate a brain that isn’t working the way it should.
If your child can tell you how they feel, what hurts, what they’re thinking, or why they’re upset, never take that gift for granted.
For families like ours, a page full of random words tells a whole story. We just have to lean in and listen. He is able to write again and that’s not something he has been able to do for months. So even though I’m disappointed that he was spitting on his teacher, and that there’s a whole lot of babble on this sheet, I see progress. And hopefully he doesn’t try to hit or spit on anyone tomorrow!
