Tell me about the day you first saw me.
Edgar, age eight, asked this of me last night—a seemingly, deceptively simple question that is, in truth for him, anything but.
Living with undiagnosed ADHD, then a virtual loss of two years of his early childhood due to epilepsy, its accompanying seizures, and the side effects of the ultimately miraculous medicine that helped to bring those seizures to an end, Edgar has never lived anywhere but in the present.
The past and future have had very little meaning for him, and he has held them in even less regard.
It sounds charming, romantic and poetic even . . . a dreamy blue-eyed boy doing nothing more than following his bliss, the very personification of carpe diem—quick to forgive, and, yes, to forget.
But there is nothing charming about that same child asking you on a sunny May day if Christmas…
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