It was early, the sun yet to peak over the horizon. The air was cool and crisp and there was the light aroma of the leaves that scattered the ground. I was working my way through our school day routine on autopilot. Wake Finley, lift her out of bed, change her, dress her, brush her teeth, fix her hair, put on her glasses, put on her shoes, lift her into her wheelchair, feed her breakfast, wheel her out the door and get her on the bus. But somewhere between lifting Finley out of bed and getting her dressed, my five-year-old daughter had a thought that she proudly shared with me. …