After eight years, it feels like nothing has changed. Yet everything has changed. My 8-year-old son Henry’s strong internal clock makes him, again, the first to wake this morning.
My other two children, ages 10 and 6, are still sleeping. I get Henry dressed and carry him, straddled on my waist, down the stairs to his wheelchair.
Instead of getting him ready for his bus, I sit him in front of a laptop at the kitchen table and let him watch some TV before virtual summer school.
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