Scars

As I look at his elbow, it’s still hard to believe that it can now bend. It’s so interesting that now the foreign to me is what is the norm for all else. I hold his little arm afraid that somehow I will damage his arm further or somehow be the cause of some unforeseen damage The sight of his scar from his stitching causes me unease. But it’s not the sight of the scar that causes me unrest but it’s the pain that I will forever associate with that scar. I’ll always remember how I felt placing my son in the nurse's arms to be taken back to have his surgery. I’ll remember the cries I heard when he realized mommy and daddy were not right there. And I’ll remember how I felt when he came to that realization.

Then I remind myself to whom I am referring. My son is resilient and strong and how utterly silly of me to believe that somehow I can cause him further pain, than that which he has had to endure just to get his elbow to bend. How absolutely unfair it is to blame myself for what my son has to go through.

His scars should be a reminder of his unwavering personality. And his scars will be a reminder not of the pain of his surgery but of his triumphs.