What do you see when you look a this photo?
A boy. Alive. Happy, thrilled maybe. Engaging. Social. A boy watching and waiting to explore the world, curious of what might be around the next corner. What will it be…what will he see…what will he learn…how much will he laugh? A boy enthusiastically chewing his gum if only to stop to give a “Cheese” for his mom?
I see this too. My beautiful, beautiful boy. So full of strength and wonder. My boy who has enlightened me so. Only, I also see something else. I see the promise of the boy that would have been, almost was, might still be….that will slip away – has already started to slip away – into a medicated, drunken stupor and be lost more than he already is, for at least the next three months.
The dreaded time of transition from the cocktail of medications that once held hope for a new day of a seizure free (or whatever it is you’re treating) brain to another concoction holding new hope peppered with the reality of the past transitions, past med changes.
And on. And on. And on.
You’d think there will be a time when the ending is happy. A time when the magic combination, the magic medication, therapy or breakthrough might find it’s way to your doorstep, into his body, to quiet what ails and allow the beautiful boy you see here to bask in the sunlight of his life – and know he’s doing so.
For now, we’re freeing the sail into the next transition. For now, I’ll be happy if I can find the light that we see in his eyes here, in another picture any time soon.