Raising Evan – A Journey with My Extraordinary Child

People often ask me, “Did you know before he was born?” And every time, I pause. Because it’s not a simple yes or no. That question used to land like a rock in my chest—not because I didn’t want to answer, but because it carried this subtle, unspoken suggestion that there might be something “wrong” with Evan.

But how could I explain that what I saw was something extraordinary?

Evan’s story didn’t begin with a smooth script or predictable milestones. From the very beginning, I knew we were going to walk a different path together. I’ve always been an optimist—I find light where I can—but even optimism has to sit with reality. And ours came with a jarring truth: Evan would need not just one, but two open-heart surgeries. That’s the kind of information that lives in your bones once you hear it. It doesn’t go away, but you learn to live with it, and eventually, to live through it.

Raising Evan hasn’t just meant navigating the medical world—it’s meant rewriting what I thought parenting would look like. His school experience didn’t mirror his older brother’s. While his stepbrother breezed through advanced classes, Evan faced a different kind of learning curve. And that comparison, even if unspoken, sometimes stung. Not because I wanted Evan to be someone else, but because I wished the world would stop measuring him by rules that were never meant for him.

It was hard. Some days, it still is.

But here’s the thing: raising any child is hard. There’s no handbook, no perfect path, no one-size-fits-all approach. We all walk into parenthood with love and hope—and often, with fear. What I’ve learned is that courage doesn’t come from pretending everything’s okay. It comes from showing up anyway.

So if you’re reading this and your heart is heavy—if you’re facing your own hard truths, or sitting in a quiet moment wondering if you’re strong enough—can I tell you something?

You are.

You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to do it alone. I’ve been there. I am there. And if my story helps you feel even a little less alone in yours, then I’m grateful.

Because extraordinary doesn’t always look like perfection. Sometimes, it looks like Evan. And I wouldn’t change a thing.