Pain's end
On August 23 of this year, a young man died. He was only 13, but it seems a violation to call him a boy when he spent his entire life bravely fighting a terrible condition that could do nothing but get worse, even if only a violation of my yardstick for manhood.
His name was Alex and for a short time I knew him, working as his one-to-one worker at the day camp I used to work for.
The Globe & Mail featured him in their Lives Lived column yesterday.
His name was Alex and for a short time I knew him, working as his one-to-one worker at the day camp I used to work for.
The Globe & Mail featured him in their Lives Lived column yesterday.
