So I am reading the journal from parents of a three year old little boy, who has brain cancer. It is heart breaking.
I am in awe of how graceful these parents are. There are no pity parties. There is no blame. There is nothing but hope that the child will make a full recovery.
I am in awe of how well this little guy is doing, all things considered.
How he still wants to play, and be a kid, even though he must feel awful.
Even though he has had multiple brain surgeries.
Even though he is on round three of chemo.
Even though he has a wound on the back of his skull that is taking a very long time to heal and close.
Even though he is in a hospital, instead of being home or at preschool.
It makes me step back a little and look at my life.
Look at my son, and thank whoever, that he is just as he is. Not better, and not worse. Just who he is.
It makes me realize, things could be so much worse.
I could have a child who doesn't get to sleep in his own bed every night.
I could have a child who has to have catheter ports in his little body.
Shunts in his brain to relieve pressure.
I could have a child who has lost all of his hair from the chemo, right at this very moment, not to mention a host of other things that chemo drugs cause when you eventually grow up, if you grow up.
It makes me want to grab my child and hug him and never let him go.
It also make me hope that this little boy recovers and goes on to live a healthy and productive life, just as his parents wish, I'm sure.