Wyatt - Ten Years Into Forever
Some stories are built slowly, not like firecrackers but like trees layered in seasons and rings and the strength it takes to keep growing. Wyatt Goss is ten years old today. Just ten. And somehow also already ten. A number that requires two digits to hold the weight of becoming, and a breath to understand what a journey it's been just to arrive here.
Wyatt's first chapters weren’t easy. There’s a kind of heartbreak that sits too big in a young boy's chest, and it leaves behind a tenderness, a sensitivity to the shape of things that most of us lose somewhere along the way. When Wyatt was very small, he had to say goodbye to the life he knew with his biological mom and dad, and that goodbye is the kind that echoes. But he was met with something fierce and healing: Carole his grandmother, who didn’t hesitate for a second to turn her love into action, who stepped in and stepped up to become Mom. And the thing is, when she did that, the rest of us got lucky too. Because Wyatt didn’t just get saved. He was a gift delivered to all of us.
In many ways, Wyatt is just a kid. He rides scooters through the neighborhood like he's racing the sunset. He can eat his bodyweight in Skittles and still ask for popcorn. He plays Nintendo like it’s a full contact sport. He laughs too loud, runs too fast, cares too much. And thank goodness for that.
Because here's the thing about Wyatt: for someone who’s known loss, he loves without hesitation. When he gives, it’s always the whole thing. The last candy, the best toy, he’ll offer it up without even thinking, because he knows what it’s like to not have, and he dosen’t wants anyone to feel that way. Wyatt doesn’t do half measures. His loyalty is not cautious. His kindness is not calculated. His heart is all in, all the time.
And yes, sometimes the fear creeps in. Of being left. Of not being enough. But we tell him over and over and more importantly, we show him that we are not going anywhere. That he is more than enough. That love, the real kind, isn’t scared away by sadness or struggle. It's what you carry with you through those times.
Today we watched Thor and played video games and had cake and opened presents. It was a day like any other. But also it wasn’t. It was Wyatt’s first double-digit birthday, a marker of time and growth and resilience. It was another chance to tell him in every possible way: you matter. You are loved. You belong.
And in between the photos and the s’mores and the belly laughs and the bedtime yawns, there was this: the miracle of a boy becoming who he already is. Of love finding a way, not in big dramatic gestures, but in the everyday heroism of showing up, again and again.
So happy birthday, Wyatt. You are brave. You are wild in the best way. You are a storm of joy wrapped in ten years of grit and giggles. And most of all you are home to everyone lucky enough to love you.
