Part two, complete. ❤ My son's words. My handwriting. These words, written three years ago, while he was on the cusp of crisis. Fighting everyday for happiness. Fighting everyday for strength. Self love. To matter. To fit in. To know his place in this world. He is fighter. Always has been. Since being born too early and so small. His spirit has always been greater than his size. Three years ago, he was in a fight for his life. Fighting darkness and shadows. He and I sat at the dining room table drawing and writing. It was one of the few things that centered him and gave him breath. He handed me a piece of paper, on which he'd written, 'Being you is being beautiful'. Tears came to my eyes. How, at the age of 11, was he so wise? He knew exactly what he needed to hear, and had written himself a reminder. One we would turn to. Over and over again, through months of hell and anguish, as we fought our way to the light. And we did. Since then, it has become a mantra for many, but especial...