We could not unsee what we saw. I didn’t want to ever get over it. I wanted to remember it, a small offering to them…
the children that didn’t get to go home
the chemo being administered in the crowded waiting room that doubled as a clinic
the parents’ faces, the childrens’ faces, their souls in their eyes
the feeling of despair and deep love that hung heavy and quiet in the air
the bravery, strength, and beauty beyond measure
A door had been opened, we walked beyond the false security of a world where children are immune to pain and suffering, innocent to all bad things. As if we had laid our eyes on what was behind the curtain, we could no longer not know about this new (to us) and unfairly cruel world. A disease that didn’t care about our fundamental belief that children should be allowed the freedom and beauty of an unmarked childhood. And a world that continued to move on, seemingly unaware, despite its youngest souls hurting.
Getting over it would be like looking at the scars from what we endured and denying their existence. This was meant to change us, only it was up to us to determine how.
It has been more than eleven years now since that spring day. Within those years there have been times of worry and concern, times we have spoken out to raise money and awareness, times we have been told are prime for a recurrence, times for actions, always gratitude. General ailments, sickness, will sometimes bring that back-of-the-mind question forward, is this something more? It has been a conscious effort to fully live life, a spirit in our son that is wise beyond his years rooted in a real and true life. A life where joy and anxiety can exist in the same moment, and we will fight for joy to win out every time. A journey that we will always be on together, but a story now with the details that are his to tell.
I never did find anything good in that comment, but I did find beauty when I was open to seeing it, in all the ones who continue to fight for those who cannot. Who continue to let love spill from the deep gashes in their hearts. Those who know that when they tell their story it will bring healing and a witness. Those who look back, look around, seek those who have been hurt by the same thing and say, I will not run, it will not scare me away, I am here with you. I will not forget.
My eyes will always remain open as will my heart. It is my hope to never get over it.
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This article originally appeared at MichelleKrol.com.
