Ty was just the sweetest little boy. He was my whole entire world from the second he was born. He didn’t start talking until he was 18 months old, but then he found his words quickly and had so much to say. He loved buttered rolls and blue lollipops. He braved the high slide at Magnolia Park all by himself, curls bouncing as I’d watch him climb the high ladder with a pit in my stomach. He loved to race me home on the boardwalk -- his three steps to my one. He held his baby brother and my heart grew even more. He chased down ocean waves. He flew kites. He gave great hugs around the neck. He went tubing behind the speedboat on Schroon Lake days before his diagnosis. My dad drove the boat just as he used to drive me on that same lake when I was a kid. Ty was almost three years old and life was great.  Swimming in the lake I loved my life then, I just didn’t know how much because I took it for granted. All of it. I hated that I worked so much instead of being grateful for how that work ena