My son led me into his room, telling me to close my eyes. He then asked for my phone. I could tell he was up to something, but wasn't at all sure what it could be. This "close your eyes, I want to surprise you with something" bit is a fairly common one in our home, as my son relishes pranks, tricks, and scaring people just as much as he loves setting up a Lego scene and revealing it to my wife and I. So it was difficult to know what to expect. My son walked me "in to position" as he said, and when I asked why he wanted my phone, he said it was to take a picture. As I handed him my phone, he said I could open my eyes.I found myself standing between his bunk bed and his rarely used chalkboard easel. He told me to look down, and on the front of the chalkboard, and from my upside-down perspective I saw what he had written:
He beamed with pride as I looked at him, but only for a moment, because his face quickly changed to a look of intense focus as he held the camera up to get "the perfect shot."
Moments like this remind me of how lucky I am, but also make me wonder-- would I appreciate little situations like this is not for the transplant? Would I have been able to recognize how precious this little occurrence is had I not experienced the nadir and subsequent dramatic improvement of my physical health over the past two years? I like to think I would, but I'm just as content never knowing the answer, as long as I can keep having these moments and recognizing how wonderful each of them are.