On February 8th, my son Sheamus turned 17. Seventeen feels like a tall number. It stands there, shoulders back, almost adult-sized, asking you to notice the years that carried you here. We kept it simple. We always do. The small party happened on Saturday, the day before his actual birthday. Just the circle that matters most. Me, Sheamus, and my mom, his grandma. No crowd noise, no pressure, no forced smiles. Just comfort, familiarity, and the kind of calm that lets an autistic teen actually ...