thirteen

Dear Bailey, 

You are thirteen today - I can hardly believe it!  Every year when I write these I go back to that little tiny squishy baby boy that I held for the first time and wasn’t quite sure what to do.  I knew instantly that I loved you but I didn’t know how much you (and later your sister) would redefine love for me.  Every year I also write about the new things you did and learned and although this year has looked very different, I am certain that what you have learned will carry you through the rest of your life.   

Just a few days after you turned twelve we found that nasty tumor in your leg.  You and I spent that first day together trying to be brave but I think you were braver than me.  You told me that you were born to fight this and I do believe that you were.  The day we walked into St. Jude you were wearing a Superman shirt, maybe it was a coincidence, but it seems that you just might have always been  Superman after all.  I watched you count to three the first time they stuck your arm, never flinching, and I knew then that you had been storing all of your brave since you were born for this very time. 

I watched you go through your first scan machines, your first X-rays and remembered how I felt the first times I did the same thing.  I knew you were scared but you laid there as I watched the timer count down and talked to you over that loud machine.  I watched your face as the doctors talked to you and I knew that you understood what you were up against, yet you stayed still and calm.  I wanted to pick you up and bolt but we both managed to stay.  I wanted to freak out I saw that big line sticking out of your chest but you didn’t so I didn’t either.  You figured out how to walk on your crutches with that heavy brace so fast I couldn’t keep up with you.  

I watched you as you faced every round of chemo - almost forty weeks because of all those delays - all of those awful mouth sores, that fever that we thought would never end, that leg infection.  I watched you carry that backpack everyday full of your fake food, your wound vac, and even though I carried it a lot, you never sat down.  I watched your beautiful hair fall to the patio as I shaved it which made me sad but then when I saw what a cute bald kid you were and how much of your face I could see, I loved it.  I have so loved kissing that bald head for the last year but I am loving those soft sprigs of auburn hair that are back even more.  I was also glad that your teeth came in straight since that’s the first thing you could see when your hair was gone!  

You taught me a lot of things this year - I may have even learned more than you. I have learned to be more trusting - in people, but mostly in God because of you.  The day after Easter when we sat in the waiting room and waited for seven hours for your big surgery, I had to trust that you would be ok.  And you were.  You came back to me without that tumor and with a shiny new titanium bone in your leg.  I have never been so happy to kiss your face.  And although that new bone leg has caused you a lot of pain and hard work, when it’s all said and done, those scars will tell stories of adversity that will be hard for anyone to top.    

You taught me how to speak up for you and now I watch you speak up for yourself.  You taught me how to be patient, even though I thought that’s something I already knew, I found out that I really didn’t.  You have taught me that really the only thing that matters is that I have you, Kate, and Daddy, and everything else will work itself out.  By watching you, my eyes have been opened to how the world views people who are sick or different because you have only wanted to be seen as capable.  We may have made a game out of people staring in public at your crutches, brace, and bald head (like that one weird guy at Graceland who kept asking if you had a football injury), but it really made me think more about how people feel and how their mothers feel.  Sometimes I feel like I need to elbow people out of the way in a crowd but I look back at you and realize that you have it together, way more than me.  Either way, I’ll always be happy to elbow them.  

You have also taught me about YouTube and I’ve watched so many videos that I feel like I know the people who make them.  Because of you, I know about the sneaker industry, collabs, and Supreme drops, and of course dogs. I have learned about cars too, or at least you’ve tried to teach me so thanks for being patient when the only thing I really know is what color they are.  You have named every cool car on the interstate in our countless trips downtown and can tell their make and model from miles away, and even in the dark by the shape of their tail lights.  I also learned that you like watching people as much as I do.  This is a true gift that will provide you entertainment for the rest of your life.  We’ve spent hours on those benches outside St. Jude watching the tourists take pictures and watching people mill around in and out of the hospital.  Your impersonations are pretty impressive too.  

In spite of all the hard things this year, you are still the same you.  You have always had the ability to notice every detail in your surroundings, like when you were three and noticed a fish was missing from your preschool.  When you recall things to people that they didn’t think you heard, I love seeing the look on their faces. Sometimes people underestimate how smart and wise you are, but there’s nothing wrong with the element of surprise because it teaches people to be more considerate.  Your memory is better than anyone I have ever met.  There are lots of things I would like for you to forget, but I know that those things will eventually help you be stronger and more compassionate. You are stubborn which really just means that you never give up.  You are sensitive and thoughtful, making sure no one gets left out and I’m pretty sure you’ll always take care of your mama.  You have managed to steal the hearts of countless nurses with your honesty, wit, and charm, and the way you flash that mischievous smile that’s hidden sometimes under your serious face.  You are loyal to the things and people you love - your family, your friends, the Mississippi State bulldogs, and of course, your dogs.   You can pretty much talk me into anything, which is how I ended up chasing this little girl dog around the house.     

It may not feel like you got to see and do much, which is entirely true, but you have accomplished more this year than most people accomplish in a lifetime.  Your perseverance has inspired hundreds of people to be strong and courageous like you.   You have learned how to speak up and tell people what you think, ask the right questions, and make choices even when your choices are limited.  You are honest and straightforward and so funny, which people figure out when they stick around long enough and listen close enough.  You have taught us all to be more understanding of others who have it worse than we do and that smile of yours has opened up the hearts of more people than you will ever know.  You said the other day that people don't know how lucky they are.  This is so true, but I told you that I know how lucky I am and that has made me look at life differently for the last seven years.  I hope that you will too.  

Twelve was not what we expected and much harder than I wanted it to be for you.  I had hoped that you would be wading through the waters of the awkward preteen years in seventh grade instead of sitting at the kitchen table with your schoolbooks or in a hospital, but I sure have loved having you close to me.  That’s the part I would never want to give back.  

Thirteen, my boy, it will be different.  You have already done hard things and you are wise beyond what most thirteen year olds know.  That will help you in all the weirdness of the teenage years.  You are so capable of anything you want to do and you carry with you something so very special because of what you have endured.  I wish for you lots of things this year, but mostly I wish for you to be just a regular thirteen year old boy. I wish for you to get dirty, make mistakes so you can learn from them, and be goofy with your friends.  I wish for you to travel, go fishing, go to school, and ride bikes.  I wish for you to worry about how your hair looks and your math tests.  I wish for you to dream big.  

I love you more than you could ever imagine.  

You will always be my hero.  

Happy Birthday!

Mom

January 2017

January 2018