Tomorrow Taylor turns 20. That’s insane. I always get asked what is wrong with him or more specifically, “What does he have?” But doctors don’t know, there isn’t a clear diagnosis, and people tune out his issues, not grasping the severity and losing interest or becoming uncomfortable. Instead, I’m telling you this:

Stop smoking. You have clean lungs you don’t need suctioned multiple times a day to breathe. You aren’t hooked up to an oxygen monitor—yet. It’s an insult to a little boy who has never smoked a cigarette in his life that you freely walk around with that white stick between your lips and between your fingers and crack jokes about having a smoker’s cough.

Stop wasting your day on the couch. You have two functional legs. You can walk. You can run. You can hop, skip, and jump. Build a snowman and take your kid(s) sledding, and then sled yourself. You aren’t confined to a wheelchair. Take the stairs without complaint when there’s a line for the elevator. Stop bitching when someone beats you to a good parking spot and you have to walk the length of the lot—you can do it! Stop complaining about boredom and endlessly flipping through stations and not having anything to do—you have the world at your fingertips. You don’t have to have your parents roll you from side to back to side routinely throughout the day so you don’t get bedsores.

Step outside. Again, you have the entire fucking world at your fingers tips. You get to witness the seasons change. You watch the leaves fall and spring bring rebirth. The only time Taylor goes outside is from the house to the vehicle and from the vehicle to the hospital, and then from the hospital to the vehicle and from the vehicle to the house. Breathe in the fresh air. Soak up the sun. Bathe in the heat. Dance in the rain. Jump in the leaves. You can breathe fresh air without being seized by a fit of coughing, do it.

Stop being stagnant. If you aren’t happy with your life, move. Take four steps back to make five leaps forward if that’s what it takes. You have the ability to change your life. It starts with a dream and is implemented by action. Just do it and buy the Nike apparel if it motivates you to do so even more.

Lose or gain the weight. I’m against body shaming but I’m not talking about the lack of or robust of curves you may have. I’m talking about obesity and anorexia. I’m talking about overeating or starving yourself. This little boy is fed through a G-tube and at about 5’5” weighs only 68lbs, maybe. He used to love ice cream—eat your sweets without feeling guilty. Make it happen by eating healthy 80 percent of the time. If you complain to me how you’re overweight or need to lose weight but fail to make changes in your diet and physical activity, I will tune you out. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about your high blood pressure and high cholesterol as I watch you eat a pound of bacon while binge watching Netflix. I don’t want to hear about how you’re a perfect candidate for heart disease but are lucky enough to still be walking when there’s a boy laying in a bed all day every day who is unable to take the steps to make the changes. But you can, and you choose not to. Stop it. See above, stop wasting your day, stop wasting your breath, stop complaining about boredom, and start moving. Be active.

Be you. Be you unapologetically. In a healthy and positive and do good manner, be you unapologetically. Taylor loves people. He loves interactions. He loves attention. But he can’t talk and he can’t communicate, making it hard for many, myself included, to relate to him. If he were to go out, you’d stare at him and his differences and he would smile at you. He’s a hermit due to his condition with a social butterfly inside waiting to be released. It won’t be. He’s cocooned in his room. The few times he was taken out to restaurants in his wheelchair, he was happy. But his happiness becomes the noises patrons get annoyed at, wondering why his parents won’t shut him up so they can enjoy a meal in peace. Eat at home. Your judgments shouldn’t enter the world. Leave them at your door, in your own home. Since Taylor’s last big surgery back in 2012, the one that landed him in bed and on oxygen with lungs that needed suctioned, he hasn’t been out to a restaurant. My parents don’t want to disturb other patrons and be in the midst of negative attention. I don’t doubt they would love to shout, “Fuck you all, this boy deserves to be in public without scrutiny”—I sure would, I can be unladylike and not-at-all classy like that—but that’s an unnecessary confrontation. Shave half your head, cover your body in ink, wear stripes with polka dots, sing at the top of your lungs at the grocery store, and be silent when you don’t want to say anything and talk endlessly when you have a lot to say. You can go out and express yourself. Do it. Don’t let society hold you down. Stand up and be you, unfiltered.

Tomorrow Taylor turns 20 and we are at a loss at what to do in celebration. This is a huge milestone—him surviving two decades. We never expected this. We were told not to expect this. We could easily not do anything, treat it like any normal day, and he wouldn’t know the difference. But that idea is absurd. Outrageous. Insulting.

He can’t blow the candles out on the cake he can’t eat—there will be no cake.

He is sunshine, how he smiles despite his troubles, his pain, his suffering. Don’t put out another’s light, make it brighter with your own. Celebrate. Go out and appreciate your life for him. Breathe, run, be you. Fucking shine.

Pictured: Taylor with his niece Evelynn. Told you he loves company, & she loves giving it.