My son Michael turned 24 last week.
After eight tumultuous years, and too many brushes with death, he is doing well.
For the longest period of time since his first hospitalization at age 17, Michael has actively accepted and managed his addictions and his bipolar disorder.
He sees his treatment-program administrator every day and meets with a counselor once or twice a week.
He works full-time, attends the University and makes a happy life with his young wife and infant son.
He visits Mark and me once or twice a week and calls almost every day.
Both of his sisters recently commented, “Michael is back! That sweet boy we used to know is doing sweet, thoughtful things again.”
We know joy.
I appreciate the moment for it’s own sake.
We’ve know so many “bitter others.”