In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Secret Santa.”
There was a prayer that I cried out to God a million times for my son before he was delivered from his hell here on earth and his spirit left his body to find a place where all of his scars had been erased, where there is no illness, wounds, or misery where he resides today.
That prayer was for peace and a day to be pain-free. Today these words would be for his cousin, my niece, who suffers each day with all that comes with her torments she was born with. She is sweet and so beautiful. If there could be a magic wand that I could wave over her golden blonde hair and speak some strange words and conjure up twenty-four hours to know how life would be without Ehlers Danlos, Osteogenesis Imperfecta, or her physical deformities, that is what I would do.
There are millions of children waking up each morning in pure agony and they are never aware that we do not. They are our forgotten soldiers, fighting through each moment to make it to another day. They are bullied, ignored, pushed aside, and given up on by our medical and school systems. It is a dream of mine that we will find a better way to care for them and their families within my lifetime. Until that happens, I continue to pray for my miracle.
I Am Not Sick Boy 