Proud Mama

Where do I start, sweet Philip?

When you first were diagnosed with Perthes, I read a lot online.  One thing that stuck with me was a father's testimonial for Children's Orthopaedics of Atlanta.  It included a picture of an adorable little boy about your age in a funny looking cast and sitting in a wheelchair.  The Dad chronicled their journey with Perthes and Dr. Schrader's care.  In it, he said, "I never knew my son could be my hero."  It sounded funny to me then, but now I get it.

This Lent in the atrium, you and I worked our way through the 23rd Psalm.  Digesting it...taking it apart.  We talked about want.  When asked if you ever wanted anything, you replied, "to run again."  Wow.  Alone, you applied the valley of the shadow of death to your journey with this disease.  You told me that God was with you in this valley.  I was speechless.

At your check-up last month, Dr. Schrader used the word "valley" to describe where we are now.  I was almost speechless again at his choice of words.  Your bone is through with the dying part but is yet to start the regrowth.  It will...in its own time...in His time.  That's not easy to accept, but you did.  I left a little bummed, but you were not.  You told me that you wanted him to ease up on your restrictions, but since he didn't make them stronger you could certainly keep doing what you have been doing.  And you have...without complaint.

And then there's this...

You sang on the red steps this morning with your class for the last time.  How can that be?

You were chosen to be the flag-bearer.  I would have been mortified to stand up in front of the Lower School with the brace on.  You were not.  I had tears in my eyes watching you.

I.  Could. Not. Be. More. Proud.

I teared up again as you sang, "Lord have mercy.  You are my comfort."  I know you know that and it makes me so happy.

Sweet boy.

Sweet brothers.

Sweet friends.

You are my hero.