If I had known what life was going to be like right now, four years after we were told about Kingsley's diagnosis, I wonder if I would have reacted differently. Would I have gotten so upset if I knew how much he would laugh? If I had known how little his sisters would care about any of it, would I have worried so much? If I had known about the surgeries and the wheelchair, would it have made me feel worse? Maybe the way he loves to snuggle and his incredible independence would have negated some of the ache.
Jeff said today that this wasn't the kind of anniversary he remembered. I told him it's not the kind of anniversary I can forget.
But if I had known about how strong he hugs;
about how sweet his breath still smells, even though he's not a baby anymore;
about how funny he thinks he is;
about how much attitude he can give you when he's mad;
about how sweet his little voice is;
about how much he loves being read to;
about how much he loves trains and buses and trucks;
about how deep his belly laugh is;
about how he knows everything a 3 year old is supposed to know;
about how our life is still pretty awesome;
about how much we don't care about his wheelchair or any of it.
If we had known how much we would love him, anyway, in spite of it, because of it, regardless of it, not thinking about it, not caring about it, when we're immersed in it, when we don't even think about it... I think it would have been easier. It was easy to look at those doctors and tell them we didn't care, to walk out of there, to not look back. It was not easy to keep breathing after that. Had I known, it would've been.