Dear Javad....

Dear Javad,

Today marks two years since the day that changed our lives forever. Two years ago, while I was at school at African Family Night, I got a call from your older brother saying that you were unresponsive. My heart sunk because in the background, I heard your dad's voice and the panic was clear...something was very wrong. I told your brother to call 911 and I gathered my things and began the long drive home. I called home as soon as I was in the car, after calling Grami to go to our house to be there for support. Grami, who arrived at our house amazingly quickly, answered at first and told me that the paramedics were doing CPR...your heart had stopped. My heart was pounding and for the longest time (four long minutes), I waited on the phone, wondering if this was it....wondering if you were going to slip away and I wouldn't be there. I could hear my heart in my heart and began taking deep breaths, almost panting in the car. My legs were on fire and numb...I couldn't feel my legs while I was driving at speeds much higher than normal.

After talking with Uncle Lorne, who was giving me the play by play, I arrived at the ER at Randall Children's Hospital and waited for you. I kept breathing and sending prayers to Grampa in heaven, asking him to protect you. I was there when you arrived. I held your hand and talked to you. You squeezed my hand and smiled. I kissed you and we talked. I told you how much I loved you. Inside my heart was pounding and I just kept sending love to you and a blanket of protection to keep you safe.

After the doctors checked you out, you fell asleep. That was the last time you would ask for a kiss or smile for almost a year. No one knew the what the outcome would be. I knew that life would never be the same, but hoped that you would come out of this ok.

Two seems like it was five minutes ago and it seems like a lifetime ago. Things are different now...there are so many things you can't do anymore. You are making slow but steady progress, but I am not sure you will ever lift your arms again, swallow with ease, or move your own body while up in your chair yet you seem to be okay.

You are the most resiliant boy, one who keeps a smile on your face and lips puckered to kiss at any given time. You are a gentle soul who seems to roll with the punches. You, in so many ways, have handled this whole thing better than I have.

The other day I was listening to a podcast that talked about meeting your children where they are. I am working on trying not to be so sad about what you have lost. I am working on not being angry about what we have all lost. I am working on acceptance.

Javad, I love you so much and want so many things for you. I could learn so much from you...I already have. I am working on meeting you where you are. I am celebrating all that you can do and trying to push away the worry and panic that sometimes creeps into my heart. I am not sure what I would do if something happened to you. Two years ago we came so are a different boy physically in so many ways, yet your spirit is strong. I am grateful to be your mother.

Sweet boy, I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you, but know that every beat of my heart breathes life into you.

I don't know what our future holds, but I am grateful, for you and all you are. Here's to another year of healing, sweet giraffe boy.

I love you...



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