We weren't guaranteed that he'd grow at all. That he'd even be walking or talking. This little boy that is now a big boy and has a light and life that just pours out of him onto everyone he meets.
At the AEOF event the other night I prepared myself to be strong and listened to parents that I knew, the ones that are still in the midst of the storm, their child not better. I'm so often told we should be so proud of ourselves. You were so strong. You were so brave. You got through it. I don't know how you got through it. I opened the event program a few pages in to see the photo of Noah in his helmet, hand raised high in the air. And I couldn't stop the tears from stinging my eyes. I am not the strong one. I am not the reason for his miracle.
The Lion King has been the movie of choice lately at our house. I caught my breath the other day as Mufasa tells his son, I'm only brave when I have to be... being brave doesn't mean you go around looking for trouble.
And later he says even kings get scared.
I was scared. Somedays I still fight that fear. That this isn't over. And here everyone thinks I'm the brave one. That because I made it through the storm and had faith unwavering that I must still be so strong. I was only brave when I had to be.
I dry off the last dish. Noah has put away almost all of the silverware and declares that the spoons are winning. His smile flashes a spirit that is alive and peaceful and well. I am so thankful. We're winning, too.