We all know the story. Dorothy had what she needed all along. She didn’t even need the pretty ruby red slippers to click her way home. 

Dark clouds hung low over my home the other day — both figuratively and literally. I stood on a chair, looking up through my basement window as they darkened my neighborhood — the wind shaking the trees uncomfortably close to my car. And I thought to myself, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” 

I visited a private school last week in hopes of placing my son there, because his two friends — who homeschool with him — are planning to attend full time next year. I sat and listened to the head of the school talk all about the wonderful things happening there, and after our meeting was over, I pleasantly thanked him for his time — leaving fully aware that there’s no way my neurodivergent child would be able to attend. 

Shortly after, I received a phone call from another school on my “hopeful” list. The woman on the other end said, “I read the neuropsych evaluation of your son, and I don’t think this is the right place for him.”

I wanted to hang up the phone, but she kept talking as I successfully held back tears welling in my eyes. I crossed both schools off my list that day.  

I’ve spent more than seven years trying to help my son get his needs met, to no avail. I’ve lost jobs. I’ve lost apartments … 

The storm, anyway, passed ferociously. And at the end, there was a double rainbow — one of the brightest I’ve ever seen in my life. 

The second brightest rainbow I’ve ever seen was on the day I took this job as editor of the Life section. That day gave me more than a job; it gave me strength. Every week, I meet people who remind me I’m not alone in the struggle.

This week, I met the sweetest girl in Bristol who is fundraising for functional neurological disorder (she reminds me so much of my son). I also spoke with a man who’s faced countless challenges to self-publish his book. 

The stories I write give me hope. Each one reminds me why I keep revisiting that list of schools. The stories people share with me all come from a place of strength — the same kind Dorothy found in her desire to go home. That strength was always in her power. 

Outside my window, the rainbow faded quickly, but not before I made a wish. Can you guess what I wished for? Better yet, what would you wish for?

Michelle Mercure is editor of the East Bay Life section. Contact her for story ideas, comments, and suggestions at mmercure@eastbaymediagroup.com.