This morning, he took off to school on his bike, ready to run the mile in PE. He has a gnarly scar that runs the whole length of his thigh, but unless he’s displaying it proudly for everyone at the swimming pool, you’d probably never know. This fall, for the first time, I didn’t pause on October 19th and think about the day we almost lost him. I guess that means we’re all healing.
Six years ago this week, my son Isaac, then three, came home from the hospital. He’d been there for weeks, battling a MRSA infection. We thought that with some antibiotics and rest, we’d put the whole scary experience behind us. But there were complications in our future, and even two or three years later, I wasn’t sure that Isaac would ever run, or that the places rubbed raw in my heart from that experience would ever heal.
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