I was cleaning up my photo album on my iPhone when I came across this picture.
This is the last picture that I took of my son before he had his first seizure. We were on an exploratory trip to Philadelphia ahead of our move here, and my son and my wife had spent the day looking at houses. To reward him for his patience, we took our son to Dave & Busters for dinner.
Looking back on that night, I think I saw him space out a few times, but I chalked it up to being exhausted from the day’s activities. Seizures weren’t a part of my vocabulary yet. So we finished our dinner and turned in our tickets for prizes, and we walked down the stairs towards the exit without any inkling of what was about to come.
Six months later, I look at other pictures of him that I took before epilepsy when life was simpler and my heart breaks for that boy in those pictures because of what he will eventually go through and be living with. That boy that never had a seizure. That boy that never needed an anti-epileptic. That boy that was never too tired to go to school. That boy that never threw a punch or spit at his parents. That boy that never hid under a chair and cried because he didn’t understand what was happening to his body. That boy that never had to feel like he was any different than any other boy.
As much as I wish my son didn’t have to go through any of this, I never wish that I could have that boy back from the pictures. This is my boy. This beautiful, strong, smart, energetic, epileptic, courageous, compassionate, empathetic boy is my son. His epilepsy is a part of him and it has changed many aspects of our life, but it could never change how much I love him.
Nothing will ever change that.