From time to time, I still get those flashbacks, small reflections of painful moments played out by strangers.

Not painful like physical pain, but emotionally painful. Regret more than trauma. Guilt more than anguish. Heartwarming in some ways, but still heavy.

When I see the younger children at my son’s appointments, I’m taken back to when he was that age, the struggles, the progress, the could-have’s and should-have’s. Those memories floor me sometimes.

I know I have my faults. I’ve made mistakes. But I’m learning. And when those memories hit, I ask myself: how can I be there for others who feel the same isolation I once felt? How can I tell them that things can get better, that healing comes when the dust finally settles?

That’s where I’m trying to focus now. To become the person who can help without hesitation. To turn regret into growth, pain into purpose.

Maybe that’s why these moments still visit me. Not to haunt me, but to remind me of the direction I’m meant to go.