Dear son, you're doing good.

Dear son,

I am so proud of you. I see you working hard, I watch you step into each day with determination. Some mornings start out rough, but you've made such good strides. You're doing your best, you're doing good.

Dr. H has diagnosed you with Anxiety Disorder and PTSD. He watches you, he listens. He tells me how intelligent you are, I know this though of course. I know you're amazing. You're opening up to him, you're finding confidence. You're working hard and you're doing good.

When we left his office tonight you turned to me beaming, "Mom, Dr. H is like, the BEST thing that has happened! You were right!" And my insides melted like hot mercury. I turned my face so you wouldn't see the tears, it's just, I was so happy to hear you say this. You're trying. You're putting one foot in front of the other. You're doing so, very, good.

Some nights are rough, still. I lay in bed and hear you and know you aren't at rest. I exhaust every option and alas, we have to push on. I know this will happen. We will make progress and it will be great and we will feel good. But every so often, you'll fall back. Back to that awful place. And I'll be there to catch you. Because you've come so far, you're doing so much, you're doing so. good.

You're beginning to see that miracle I spoke of. The parts of you that shine, the gifts you were given that make my heart swell. You're facing your fears, you're looking into the darkness and finding the light. You're pulling from within, self comforting. You're doing so many brave things. Danny boy, you're doing so good.

If someone would have told me a month ago that I would be writing to you in this way, with hope, instead of pain, I would have laughed through my exhausted and weary tears. Together we're making things happen. Together we're doing good.

Love you forever, like you for always.