A woman in my life whom I truly admire recently wrote on her blog, Chasing My Miracle (thank you, Jen, from the bottom of my heart, for sharing) a little bit about her journey with her daughter. A medical journey that was longer and more severe than my Elias' but her words and memories she shared of places we frequented and feelings I felt then, in the middle of the journey, and now in the light of the reason I too, can call my Elias my miracle were stirring for me. She captured in words what I have been resting and rejoicing in during this very week. This week, as my son who was born without the ability to expel waste from his tiny body, who underwent surgeries and subsequent tests on his G.I. tract, kidneys, bladder, anus...the necessary list of medical violations and impositions goes on...this week, my son began potty training like a regular toddler. He's young and we're trying it out, not expecting success overnight, but he's physically able to do it. We were told he might not. That statement sums his journey up wonderfully. They said he might not, but he does.
As Jen relates in her blog, I so often forget about where we started because he's perfect now. I have the luxury of forgetting! I was so struck with her words because they have been my internal dialogue this past week, and every time Elias pees on the bathroom rug or points to his Pull-Up and says "Uh-oh!" after an accident I swallow tears of joy. Thank you, God, that we made it here. Thank you for my miracle.