"What's that?" I barely look up from the dish I am preparing.

"Mom, I'm gay."

I look at him. He stands there with his hands in his pocket. He looks earnest and hesitant.

"I'm glad you've figured it out." I smile.

He looks disappointed; I feel I have not reacted in the way he expected.

"Really? That's all you have to say?"  His mouth twists into a bit of a grimace.

"Well, yes, I guess. I'm glad you figured out something, and I'm also glad you told me."

He sort of nods and walks away.

------

Twenty-six months ago, my son went from a healthy 16-year-old to being in a coma. Hit by a minivan while riding his bike, he flew 60 feet and landed on his head, which caused life-threatening traumatic brain injuries. He was in a medically induced coma for a week, then was "brought back to life."

My son has been out of rehab for three weeks. These are but the early weeks of hell in brain injury recovery. For now, we still have almost complete control over him because he is not yet back in school. He is constantly monitored at home and only leaves the house to attend therapy for speech, occupation and/or physical needs. He hates being so confined. I understand: Who wants to be watched all the time? But we, his adult caretakers, are hyper-vigilant about his whereabouts. We have seen how impulsive he is, how mentally he is closer to an 8-year-old than to the 16-year-old that he is.

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