The term ‘highly sensitive’ meant nothing to me six years ago, back when I was the bewildered mother of a three-year-old boy who seemed unable to tolerate the world around him.

It could have turned out differently I suppose, if I’d allowed myself a companion as I ran the rare disease gauntlet with my son.

We are so grateful for anyone who steps into our lives and wants to help make his sphere a little friendlier, a little more appreciative of all he has to offer.

One thing I’ve come to realize is what makes a “happy ending” (in real life) is that it’s really just a beginning.

So when I hand over my son's tiny frail dying body, know that I trust you.