March 2007 (cont.)

Instead, he sat with a book on his lap all day and read. (When he turned it back to the library he would give the librarian a report: “Throw this one out. It’s no good.” Or “This was great!”) I struggled beside him and behind him, year after year, trying to find the magic that would plug him in to the system. For Peter, no such magic existed. The only thing that helped, finally, was years . . . lots of them.

He grew into a good man, one who gave generously of himself to his community, one who involved himself deeply in every corner of his boys’ lives from changing their diapers to coaching their teams. With a wife he adored and those three boys between us, he and I found a peace with one another that we hadn’t had since he was very small. He even found his way back into the educational system he had fought so efficiently; he discovered a degree program he was excited about, and he plugged in.

And then the sickness began.