Right out the gate: I know I’m writing this days (ok weeks) late. I fully admit that, and while that might not be how these kinds of posts are supposed to go, mine usually go this way. Partially because I don’t write things in advance. I write them the day of, or in the moment. Add to that, I always seem to find myself sitting down a few days after AMC Awareness Day, letting everything settle before I try to put it into words, and suddenly I’m writing this a full two weeks later.

This past June 30th marked our fifth AMC Awareness Day.

Five.

That’s wild to say out loud, especially considering how much of those first few years were lived in a haze, an emotional fog we didn’t even realize we were in at times. If you’ve never been through something like this, if you haven’t had the world you pictured for your child completely rewritten, it’s hard to fully explain. There’s a kind of quiet mourning that happens. You’re not mourning your child, not for one second. But you’re mourning the version of life you thought you were heading toward. And that grief… It’s real.

We’ve never hidden that. But we’ve never really talked openly about it, either. At least not in a way that put a spotlight on us.

This year, though? This year felt like the fog started to finally lift. I say that not with some grand, dramatic announcement, but just as a quiet acknowledgment. We’re starting to find clarity in places that used to feel overwhelming.

And with that clarity has come something else: a sense of direction.

Each year, I’ve used June 30th as a chance to reflect. Not just on Harrison and his journey, but on our journey as parents, as a family, as people trying to figure out how to do right by our son and his world.

And I’ll be honest, every one of those reflections had the same tone:
“I should’ve done more.”
“I could’ve done more.”
“I need to be doing more.”

That’s where I lived for a long time. In guilt. In that internal voice telling me I was falling short as an advocate, as a dad, as someone who should be doing more to raise awareness.

But this year? That voice is still there, but it’s starting to get a bit quieter. Softer.

Less judgmental. More focused.

Because here’s the truth: we finally did something.

We launched The Greene Affect Shop. We created and sold our first real awareness shirt, being the #HGStrong shirt, and were able to raise money to donate to Harrison’s elementary school for their inclusive playground project. We did something tangible. Something real.

And while part of me still feels like we should’ve done this years ago when we had more eyes on us, I know now we weren’t ready. Not emotionally. Not creatively. Not as a family.

We needed time.
And it turns out that’s okay.

I’ll admit something else here too: we’ve never chased the spotlight. We’ve never set out to turn Harrison’s journey into a social media campaign or a constant stream of content. That was a conscious decision from day one.

We created separate accounts, like the Facebook page, and I created this blog, The Greene Affect, to give updates without flooding our personal pages. It gave people who wanted to follow along a way to do so, without us feeling like we were forcing Harrison’s story into the feed and onto people constantly.

But it also meant we didn’t step into the role of advocates the way we probably could have.

Some of that is because we’re both creative people, and creative people need sparks. We need fire. And for a long time, I didn’t have that spark, not really. Most of what I wrote in those early years came from raw emotion. If something hit me hard, I’d write. If I thought it might resonate, I’d post it.

But the in-between? The slow, steady work of advocacy? That’s where I struggled.

I still do, but I’m getting better.

This year’s awareness day felt… different.

We were on vacation. We took photos. We swam. We hung out. We didn’t spend the day consumed by what we should be doing or what we hadn’t done.

And for the first time, I didn’t walk away from June 30th beating myself up.

Instead, I walked away with focus.

This isn’t just about AMC. Harrison also has a genetic condition called Nemaline Myopathy. He was born with club feet. He’s being treated for scoliosis and has already had multiple surgeries with more to come. He has multiple diagnoses and overlapping needs, and many of the awareness days and months tied to those conditions fall in June. (You can check out the “Awareness Tour” Dates to get an idea of what I’m talking about.) It’s overwhelming when you stop and try to give proper time and energy to each one. And I used to let that weight paralyze me.

But this year? We did something.

We made a shirt that felt right. We started to build something we’re proud of. We gave back.

That’s not nothing. That’s something.

Looking Ahead

There’s still more to do. There always will be. On June 30th of 2026 (or the days that follow), I’ll probably still sit down and write something that says, “I should do more.” But I won’t write it with the same shame I have in the past.

Because now I know that doing more doesn’t mean doing everything.

It means showing up.
It means using my voice when I have it.
It means finding the spark and acting on it.

So yeah, we’re five years in. And yeah, we’re still figuring it all out. But this year feels like the start of something new.

Not the end of the fog.
But the beginning of the clearing.