Joy by Proxy

and it being okay to cry 15 years later

On the back deck, the breeze lifted his hair. I brought him out after hours of morning care - he was a trooper through all of it. Suctioning, diapering, meds, treatments, dressing, washing. Not exactly a fifteen-year-old's dream, I'm guessing.

Too tired to read, too empty for chatter, I wheeled him outside. Let creation minister to us I thought. The birds sang brightly while sun warmed our skin. He rolled his head back, catching glimpses of light filtering through the leaves above.

Next door, the neighbor kids were doing what all kids should be doing on a hot summer day - yelling and laughing and carrying on. Then came the contest of who could jump highest on the trampoline, followed by delighted shrieks.

A commotion of the best sort.