Eight years ago, a question turned into an answer. Hope turned to fear, and took a few more years to tentatively turn back into hope. Eight years ago, on a sunny day in New Haven, Connecticut, we were handed the rest of our lives. Eight years ago, the worst and best days of our lives began in earnest.
Eight years ago, Schuyler was diagnosed with Bilateral Perisylvian Polymicrogyria.
Happy birthday, monster. You are still a motherfucker.