Ten?

Give me a minute to wrap my head around that.

To be honest, it’s hard to wrap your head around something when you’ve spent the last ten years spinning about. Half the time, I haven’t even known where my head is.

The decade since you were born has been the longest, most stress-filled quarter of my life. I’ve watched you get poked, prodded and wheeled away from me to an operating room over and over again. I’ve seen you choke and vomit so many times, it would be impossible to count. And, there were times that we saw so many different doctors and therapists that I felt like you were a pinball; bounced here and there, from one cold stethoscope to another.

Would I change all of that if I could? Yes. In a heartbeat. Would I change the person you are because of it? Never.

Sure, I wish things were easier for you. I wish that you had more friends. I wish open-heart surgery wasn’t looming over your head. I wish that you didn’t need hearing aids, or sensory cushions at school, and that your small stature wouldn’t limit you.

But, if your life had been easy then you would just be a typical kid. You wouldn’t be the funny, unpredictable, clever, kind, insightful child you are now. Every needle, every analysis, every illness and every remedy made you who you are. And, you are somewhere we never thought you would be.

You are ten.

Happy Birthday to my amazing boy.

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You know how you sleep for 10 hours and it is the longest you have, maybe, ever slept in your entire life and it feels amazing, and then you sleep great again the next night and think it MUST be because the window is open and your mom was right about fresh air, and she’s probably right about catching a cold if you go outside with your hair wet, but you’ll still never forgive her for slapping a ski cap on every kid who ever came over to play if it was under 40 degrees, because “they may come over without a hat on, but I’ll be damned if they’re leaving without one,” and you’re so well-rested that you spend the weekend pulling weeds, trimming trees, and washing windows, and you sleep well AGAIN, and think maybe the insomnia is FINALLY going away after 14 years, and then you wake up the third morning with concrete in your lungs and realize that the only reason you’ve been sleeping well is because you’re getting really sick?

Yeah, me too.

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A few days ago, my husband, the kids and I were watching an MSNBC show called, “My Kid Would Never Do That.” The show has hidden cameras and tempts kids with things like a stranger who pulls up in an ice cream truck and offers them a Drumstick and a tour of the ice cream truck. I’m 40 and I would probably still fall for that.

The episode we were watching was focused on peer pressure and cheating on a test. There was a group of kids, with two actors planted among them, who kept urging the non-actors to look up answers on smartphones or, conveniently, on the answer sheet which was attached to the test. I’m 40 and I would probably…oh, you get the picture.

As any parents would, we used this as an opportunity to discuss honesty with our kids. I asked my nine year old what he would do in the same situation. He said, “I would look around for cameras and if I saw them, then I wouldn’t cheat.”

I appreciated his honesty, but this wasn’t the answer I was going for.

We spent some time discussing right and wrong and why it’s important to never lie. I explained that once someone lies to you, you have a hard time ever trusting them again.

Apparently, he got it.

This morning he was singing to me. That’s right, he occasionally breaks into song. Sometimes it’s Broadway, sometimes it’s Busta Rhymes. Same difference. So, this morning he was singing, “You are the most beautiful mom! Yes, you are the most beautiful mom!”

Then he suddenly stopped and said, “Oh, wait” and when he continued serenading me, he had new lyrics.

As he held his hands against his heart to show me that he meant it sincerely, he said, “I should have sang, you are the best mom! Yes, you are the best mom.”

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If you read my last post, you know that Thursday was a really sad day for us. So was Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday. My son actually said, “Our house doesn’t even feel like a home anymore.” We’re getting there though. We have cried a little less each day.

In addition to sadness, there have been glimmers of good. It started when we took a walk just a couple of hours after we put Blue down. I took this photo and noted that it had been gray and cloudy all day until we decided to take a walk to Blue’s favorite pond.

The next day, I was looking at the picture again, when I suddenly saw Blue in the clouds.

See her? With her tennis ball and shark fin angel wing? My friend, Melisa, who once wrote a book for children about the loss of a pet, told me that I would start seeing signs everywhere.

On Friday, my daughter’s teacher was telling a story about a book she had just read. She was moved to tears by the death of the main character’s 14 year old dog.

That same evening, my husband was watching a fishing show. He fishes, but he never watches fishing shows. Well, that’s not true, we both watch Deadliest Catch, but not really for the fishing; more for the train wreck of chain-smoking, crab-boat crews. Anyway, he was watching this fishing show that kept making reference to catching something called a “Blue Dog.”

And, in church yesterday, the homily was about being reunited with those you love; all of us restored, whole and without pain.

Thank you, Blue. I hope you keep sending us messages.

Also, if you could keep those messages off of the bottom of my shoe, I would be really grateful.

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