Stitched

I don't have a lot of pictures of Jacob between the ages of 5-8 where he looked healthy. He always looked happy, but the thing you usually notice first is the bald head or pale skin.  The dark circles beneath his eyes and the tired expression.

When I wake up from a dream like the type I had last night I feel desperate to look at some healthy pictures of my boy. I don't want to remember his dying days. The tests, the hospitals, the 50 days that he spent on our couch. The three years of surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, blood draws, check ups, days in the hospital. Stem cell transplant. Ct Scans. Results.

I want to remember THIS boy.

The good times. The sweetness. The sunny smile. The brown puppy dog eyes. The small little hand that fit perfectly into mine.

The fuzzy hair. The peacemaker. The one who loved hamburgers and pop. Cocoa Wheats and Toaster Strudels. Animals and babies.