News about Liam

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September 20, 2007

Last night was the first time that Liam asked if he could read the many, many emails that he had been receiving.  Although we read the emails to him as they arrived, he was ready to read them again by himself – to find strength, to feel encouraged, to re-charge, to feel the love…
 
As I was going about my busy-ness, getting the evening meds together, making sure the IV’s were lined up for the 2am infusions, cleaning up the “suite”, I was unaware of how much time had passed with Liam fixated on the computer screen.  I heard him chuckle many times, say “how cool” softly as the words filled his heart. He called me over to read some messages that he thought I needed to hear again, and then, almost without recognizing it, the moment changed, there was silence. 
 
Liam sat with his head in his hands, focused on the words that were written, the words that clearly meant so much to him.…I looked over and saw that Liam was weeping.  “Honey, are you OK?  What’s wrong?”, I asked.  “I always knew I was loved”, he continued, “but I never knew how much.” 
 
As I looked at the computer, I could see that what Liam was actually reading was not the words that were meant to sustain him; these were not the words written to tell him how proud we all are of him; these words were personal…they were profound…they were painful…They were from Dad.  You see, Liam began reading not only the responses to our many emails asking for prayers, but he was also reading the letters that Bill and I have been sending out, recounting each day of this overwhelming process, filled with successes and setbacks, milestones and fears.  The missing pieces of the puzzle in his memory began to paint the picture of how incredible his challenges have been, from our perspective.  His fears in the moment were deflected by our responses, our actions, our attitudes.  Liam remembers Dad falling to his knees and praying over him as he experienced two grand mal seizures.  Liam remembers the smile they shared, the firm grip that Dad extended to Liam’s hand, and the tears in Dad’s eyes.  Dad’s words took Liam back to that moment and for the first time, he understood the depth of his Dad’s love. Love like he has never really understood before.  He saw into Dad’s heart and now love is more than a word, it evokes emotion.  How beautiful it is to witness the moment “love” becomes alive; it moves from the head to the heart; and at that precise moment, you can no longer look back to what you thought love was, because now you know and you will continue to yearn for that feeling. 
 
No longer a child, Liam has truly crossed over into adulthood this night. 16 years; 5,840 days; 140,160 hours; 8,409,600 minutes . . . a not a single second wasted feeling sorry for himself.  Liam lives in the moment and because of that, each moment is precious to him.  Shouldn’t we all do that more often??
 
We are still in Seattle.  Liam is still loving his new liver.  The challenges of each new day continue to arrive sometimes without warning.  But, tonight we will sleep, today we will laugh and for right now, we will celebrate life and love, and all of YOU who have blessed us by sharing your precious moments thinking of Liam, praying for Liam and loving Liam like only you can. 
 
Liam reminded me last night that Love Is Amazing Medicine!  Amen to that!