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Finding Courage in Meeting With Another Parent of a Child With Infantile Spasms
It was a typical, steamy hot late-August day in 2012. I parked my black Chevy Tahoe on a side street not far from Olympia Kebob House, a well-known Greek restaurant in Richmond Heights, MO. I hated driving that big car on the narrow streets, but everything about life irritated me right now. I pulled the visor mirror down, moved my hair around and touched my under eyes with my ring and middle fingers. They were puffy from all the crying I’d been doing for a month straight. There was no use. I put the mirror back up, put on my sunglasses, grabbed my bag in the passenger seat and walked down the street toward the restaurant.
