Just saw the CNN clip with Kimberly Reed, director of the movie, telling their story of two brothers whose lives have changed in immeasurable ways. Kimberly, a transgender person, goes back to her high school for a reunion and to reunite with her brother who has suffered a brain injury that challenges their relationship.

I’ve summarized it in my own words, but there is so much more to the story. It’s a unique perspective about unexpected changes in life and how we cope with them. I think we could all relate to that concept in life.

Somehow the kids always seem to make it downstairs when I am working out. Either they ask me questions (with a more than obvious answer) like “Can I drink water?” or “Should I pick up my paints?” or they come to watch me strain and stretch until I am filled with endorphins, not impatience.

Today was a little different. I could see bare little feet from my plank position and heard cautious laughter, like something was up. As I rotated and started some crunches I saw their faces first. Smiling nervously, my daughter and my son were standing in matching ballet outfits – tutus and all. Did they possibly think I’d be angry? How could I be? Giggles filled the room. Can I freeze this moment in my brain for always?

This wonderful time when my 4 and 6 year olds actually adore playing with each other. This special time when my daughter can dress her brother up as she sees fit and he’ll enjoy it just as much? He looks so sweet in the princess and party dresses. And apparently he rocks a mean tutu!

I hope they’ll look back on these days and savor the frivolity of just being kids and friends. I know I will.

Although Will is two years younger, he has incredible patience and empathy in this world. Like me, he wears his heart on his sleeve even though it seems an unlikely attribute upon a first meeting. He is this little man, husky voice and playful spirit. What strikes me most about Will is that his type of love is old school- loyal, courageous, selfless and gentle. This tiny person is an emotional giant. Still, he is four. It’s easy to forget that sometimes since he asks for very little and gives so much.

I struggle with finding balance in life, I guess in almost every respect, but with regards to my children I worry about it the most. Hope’s personality lands her in the spotlight on most occasions so what about Will? Does he get what he needs? Does he know how much he is loved? I lay awake some nights wondering if he secretly longs for center stage. As I drift to sleep then I remind myself to show them the love in my heart and everything will be fine.

“I am yours, you are mine. Mommy loves you porcupine.” I whisper the line from one of our favorite books and the corners of his mouth turn upward as he smirks. His smile lights up a room, this child. His laughter lifts your spirit. Despite his good nature, he can be mischevious in a delightful curious-bordering-naughty way and you have to laugh. From the very beginning my mom said, “Will is his own man.” And that he is. He knows what he wants and how he feels. Simple as that.

Ever since he was a small child he’s been content with less. Typical of a second child, he is flexible and adjusts to change with a certain casualness that astounds me. For a time when he was small, I worked out of the home. He took it in stride. We’ve moved several times and he sees the good in what we have, not what we lost. How lucky I am that he goes with the flow, right? When I sit back and think of how understanding he has been with Hope’s transition my tears start to fall effortlessly. My heart aches.

When Hope transitioned Will lost his brother, the person who he counted on to “show him the ropes” about growing up as a boy. It was easy to look to his big brother for all the answers about what to do and how to do it. Within the span of one day that brother vanished and he was left with a sister. Where did that history go? This person looked the same, but almost everything about them was different. New name. New appearance. New sibling. Looking back I realize that I could have done more to prepare Will for the transition. I could have spent more time talking about what it means to have a sister. That it’s not so different from a brother if you think about it. But the names are all changed. Our language changes. It’s hard to know what to expect. There is a whole world of coulda-woulda-shoulda, but it is all hindsight.

I’ll always remember him sitting in therapy, reticent to speak. After a few moments he told us he missed his brother. Hope leaned in close and said “I am the same person Will.” She told him she loved him while she stared straight into his eyes. That gesture was all it took for Will to make his own transition of thought. From that moment on he never made a mistake about Hope’s new name, gender or pronoun. Never. I think if he wasn’t allowed to talk about his feelings back then he would have been stuck in that space of loss, unable to quite put his finger on what to do to make it better.

Some people say it’s easier because Will is so young he won’t remember his brother, but I hope that isn’t true. Rather than wish for something to be lost forever I hope that there is a greater understanding of where we all are on this journey. We aren’t hiding here. Nothing has to be perfect.

I’m sitting here writing while watching them play together beside the Christmas tree and I am inspired by their capacity to love. I am motivated by their generosity and their grace. And I am forever blessed with my two angels who bring the harmony that was always missing in my life.

Halloween has always been good to us in a weird way. When Hope lived as a boy, it gave her the opportunity to dress up and feel like she wanted to. You could tell it was such a happy moment for her when she dressed up, her eyes beaming with pride and joy.

This year it felt different. Sure, it still had the fun and the merriment, but it lacked the desperation of past years. Now that she has transitioned, she doesn’t have to rely on Halloween to live life genuinely. The outfit doesn’t have to be “just right” and she didn’t feel the hesitation going out the front door, no matter how confident she felt inside the safety of our home. Yes, this year was different.

All week we finalized our costumes and talked about the Halloween party we attend every year. It was fun having a party to look forward to. The kids were excited to play with the other kids. I was excited to showcase my cheeky costume, ripped from the headlines. We laughed and giggled all week.

I guess I was carried away because I didn’t think of the fact that the hosts have not seen Hope since her transition and other families and kids from her past would be in attendance. When the thought struck me at how awkward this could be, I panicked. It felt like someone turned on the lights at 2am and everything looked drastically different.

Slowly I talked with Hope and Will, feeling like this was a conversation I should have had with them the moment we got the invitation. But I was in my glory, just living life and not over-thinking every single thing. Looks like that’s what gets me in the most trouble. I got angry with myself. No matter how much I explain the situation it’s going to sound like Hope’s transition is preventing us from going to the party. And it is.

Thankfully the kids dismissed the change in plans and saw the beauty of more trick-or-treating = more candy. Hope said she was secretly agonizing over the fact that people would be calling her by the wrong name and asking her questions that she didn’t quite know how to answer. Hope was relieved.

Will didn’t say a thing so I found him in a quiet moment and asked him if everything was okay. “I don’t think I can go to the party. I have a cough.” he said as if it was an apology just for me. Those big, brown eyes looking for validation. “Yes, it seems like you do have a cough. Maybe it’s best if we don’t give it to the other guests. Would you mind if we didn’t go to the party?” I whispered as I cuddled him in my arms so tight I thought he’d beg for air. “Better not. I don’t want to get my friends sick.”, the words were soft and warm. Tears filled the corners of my eyes as I nestled my head into his hair.

So often we focus on Hope, her feelings, her needs, her transition. And I have another child’s feelings to consider. Another child who has done an exceptional job of rolling with the punches and opening his heart so wide it could blanket this big city. Sometimes I wonder who the hero is in this story. Or if that role passes to each of us at some time or another. If that is the case, I’d say Will, only 3 years old, is the keeper of that title more often than not.

In moments of desperation he comes to you with a bear hug and an I Love You that could melt a dictator’s heart. His powerfulness delicately balanced by his extreme gentleness. To know him is to feel love. I can only thank the heavens that we were all given to each other.

When they reached the door, ready to go out trick-or-treating instead of the party, they turned back to give me kisses. This year was different alright. We might not need the costumes to feel good about ourselves anymore, but that doesn’t mean the fear is all gone. “You look beautiful Hope.” Will beamed as he looked at his sister with a mixture of love and pride and her smile extended from here to beyond.