5 years, 11 months and one day ago, they told me you would die. They told me were broken. I sat with your dad on the wrong side of the desk at the specialty OBGYN's office, hot tears falling down my face praying they were wrong. The words from that day are seared in my brain forever. They changed me. They made me stronger. They hit me like a hard punch to the gut taking my breath away. All along, I knew the words were coming. I knew you were sick but nothing prepared me for the words, "prepare for a burial". Nothing.
In a way, that fairytale idea I had with my previous pregnancies that everything would always be okay shattered like a piece of broken glass that can't be put back together.
Every year, around this time I feel it. I didn't even realize why I'd been acting so crazy the last couple days till "Stand by You" by Rachel Platten came on the radio and I cried like a baby.
Tomorrow, we head to a state 4 hours away looking for answers. I'll take take you, my almost 6 year old, very alive son for your 30 something anesthetic procedure and pray it's not in vein.
I'll hold the mask over your face until your eyes close and your body becomes limp. I'll kiss your head, whisper a prayer and wait. Maybe I'll wait another almost 6 years for answers, maybe a lifetime but through it all..."I'm going to stand by you. Even if I can't find heaven, I'll walk through hell with you."
Son, even on the darkest days, I'll always be by you. I'll fight for you. I'll believe in you. I'll never stop loving you. You have made me better. You've shown me a love I didn't know existed and a strength I didn't know I had.