Two years gone since that devastating day, which derailed and overturned my life and the lives of my family. He brings new meaning to determination, dedication and fulfillment. His smile calms me and makes me grateful for everything. I find I don’t complain, I take action. I’m an advocate now. His struggle is mine. He greets each day with the brightest of happiness. He is happy to be. When his brothers interact with him, he voices greatness of meaning and renews their importance to him. He walks with the assistance of others, but with the force and motion only known by those who will not be defeated. His chuckle brings contagious laughter and wellness to all who listen, as he lifts his hand showing the sign, I love you.
It seems I could be content where we are, but I’m not. I need to see you run. I need to see you roar, my little dinosaur. Your enthusiasm still peeps and peeks aggression. The excitement of being is sometimes too much to contain within you. The doctors are amazed. You’re a living, breathing anomaly. They smile with fulfillment because you give their passion meaning. Yet, they don’t have the answers. They don’t know how to stop your seizures. On those nights when I stand watch, I pray and ponder positively for a peaceful sleep. It seems the seizures sneak around and hide until you find a tranquil rest. Then they pounce, like a cat taunted by its prey. Sometimes, together we fight with song, comfort and positive feelings. Magnets and medicines don’t always work, but our connection to hope and the bond we’ve built through love, dedication and obstanance has made us strong, even though I need to be stronger still.
This anniversary is a marker. It’s a marker of our faithfulness to each other. Let us celebrate how far you have returned, but let us not stop here. Though the mountain continues to climb, we will rise.