I Would Bring My Disabled Son to School across 3 Miles Daily, He Drives Me in an SUV Today – My Story

Kristina was only 17 years old when she gave birth to her disabled son, Evan. She worked hard to raise him alone and would have to pull him on a stroller to get him to school. Years later, what her son would do for her would leave her over the moon.

My name is Kristina, and my journey of motherhood has been a wonder, to say the least. I remember it like it was yesterday, the day I first laid eyes on my little miracle, Evan. Even though his father had left me not too long before his birth, I knew we’d be alright from the second I saw him.

I was only 17 years old when I had Evan, and I was by no means ready to be a mother, let alone a disabled child. The doctor’s words still ring clear in my head to this day, the moment they brought his tiny body into my arms.

“It seems there were some major complications during childbirth. I am sorry to say, little Evan will never be able to use his legs,” the doctor explained.

But even as he spoke, his voice faded into the far distance as I stared into Evan’s little eyes. There was an inexpressible assurance that all would be well. That this obstacle would not stop my little Evan from being one of the brightest beacons of light in the sometimes dark world I’ve come to know. Even at the tender age of 17, I’d seen my fair share.

As I looked him in his sweet, beautiful eyes, I made him a promise; “Mommy will never give up on you, my baby. And you’ll always get my best. No matter what.”

Ten years later, Evan and I were still growing strong. While he was physically challenged, Evan was brilliant for his age. He was always at the top of his class, and sometimes it even seemed effortless.

Having fallen pregnant in my final year of high school and then having a full-time job raising a disabled child, my career options were pretty limited. I was lucky enough to find a job as a cleaner on a farm.

Evan and I lived a little distance from the city in a little old house I had inherited from my grandfather. This made things difficult as Evan went to school in the city.

I always encouraged Evan to prioritize academics, even from a tender age. This wasn’t because he was physically challenged but because I genuinely believed he was academically gifted. At a young age, he understood concepts that went over my head as an adult.

“Evan, you need to study hard, okay? I can’t have you growing up to just be someone’s cleaner like your mother. I’m grateful that I can put food on the table for the both of us, but this isn’t what I want for you,” I would often remind him.