Jack goes to a day program three days a week. Each evening following these days, I face the backpack.

The backpack is a mystery box. It often contains soiled clothing (glamorous), an art project, and a note from his classroom staff. Most days, it’s the usual: “Jack had a great day.” Which is sweet, but also vague enough that I sometimes wonder, What did he do? What did he eat? Did he actually wrestle a bear and they’re just keeping it light?

Last week, I pulled out the note and did a double take.

“Jack loved his time at Imagine That Museum!”

I’m sorry, what museum?

Turns out, our boy had a field trip. A full-blown, off-campus, culture(ish)-soaked adventure. And while I did, years ago, sign a form giving permission for off-campus trips, I apparently didn’t emotionally prepare myself for the reality that there are moments in the day when I have no idea where Jack is.

I looked at him. “Did you have fun, buddy?”

He flashed one of his magical smiles — the kind that could solve minor world crises.

AND now Fridays are a little different around here. Jack spends Thursday nights with Maria and her family — his second family. We get regular photo updates of him living his best life: eating food that puts our kitchen to shame, hanging with his “other sister” Jamilla while she makes music, and attending softball games and errands that somehow turn into epic adventures. We know he is having a great time, AND Dan enjoy our weekly date night, but every Friday we have the same conversation about how weird it feels not to have our boy around.

THEN last night, I found myself sitting at The Beacon Theater with Dan, Anna, and Anna’s boyfriend, Asher, listening to Dawes—a band I’d literally never heard of until that moment, and now I’m suddenly their biggest fan. We’d had a lovely dinner, the music was amazing, and I felt that little flutter of life is really good right now.

But, I was missing Jack. Wondering, Should we have brought him?

And then — buzz. My phone vibrated. One text.

Then another.

And another.

When we’d left the house hours earlier, Jack’s wonderful caregiver/friend, Monica, was a little unclear about any plans they had for the evening. She knows we trust her and she also knows our boy. As they went through their night, a stream of photos lit up my screen: Jack out to dinner. Jack exploring. Jack at dance lessons. JACK AT DANCE LESSONS! The boy was out there living his best life while I was wondering if he was missing us.

Spoiler: he was not.

And that’s the point, isn’t it?

Jack is 26. He’s medically fragile. He takes four medications daily to keep him alive. He can’t eat, drink, toilet, or dress himself on his own. He hasn’t spoken a word in 18 years.

And yet—Jack has a wonderful life.

Our number-one goal has always been to make sure Jack’s life is big and broad and safe and filled with joy. Thanks to the loving team of people who surround him, he gets to experience just that—even when we’re not there.

It’s not always easy for the rest of us, but it is beautiful. Especially when dance lessons are involved.

Thank you to everyone who makes Jack’s life beautiful!!!

Love, Jess