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"On Friday, my son underwent an 11-hour back surgery to correct a severely crooked spine as a result of the wasting effects of muscular dystrophy.

 

 

It is there, in the overwhelming silence of it all, where your mind starts to play tricks on you.

 

 

Finally, around 5 p.m., we asked someone if they had an update. They told us to come back at 7 p.m. That was all they said. So family members dispersed, then returned several hours later. And we continued to wait.

 

The mind is a powerful thing, and left to its own devices, it can create all kinds of havoc. It did for me, sitting there, wondering if Tristan would be okay. Then I remember something a spiritual writer wrote many years ago that said the mind can only carry one thought at a time, and the best way to get rid of worry is to replace it another thought.

 

For me, I’ve always believed that the most powerful of all emotions is gratitude. So I mentally went through a whole list of things to be grateful for: the fact that the surgeon was one of the best in Canada, that my son was in one of the best facilities in Canada, that despite his chronic condition my son was otherwise healthy, with a strong, functioning immune system, and that if something terrible were to happen, he was in the right place at the right time.

 

I felt gratitude for other things: the fact that despite our past, his father and I could set aside our differences and sit together for hours in the same room, make conversation and stay focused on the task at hand. And our respective spouses did the same.

 

And I felt gratitude for my son, who, despite his daily challenges and progressive debilitation, pushes through each day, and amazes us with his inner resolve, his strength, and his sharp sense of humor. In that moment, I wiped away all my fear and sadness, and felt an incredible sense of safety and assurance that everything would be alright. In that moment, I sat with arms wide open, opening my heart to what is, and I felt grateful for being here, in this moment.

 

It’s now Sunday evening and the rest of the family have returned to the Island, and I am alone, sitting beside my son in his hospital room. My son is sleeping and I am watching him sleep. I watch his tiny chest go up and down with every breath, and I am thankful for this.

 

I run my hand up and down his tiny spine, and I feel the nearly 100 staples holding his long incision together. I feel the long tubes embedded deep into his lower back to help remove any signs of infection, and I watch the medicine bag slowly release its drippings into the tube in his tiny hand, and I am thankful to be a part of his continuing journey, wherever it may take us.

 

However I have defined health, I trust that his body is capable of doing all it can do. And in this moment, that is enough.

 

This is how it’s always been – Tristan and me, together as one. It’s always been that way, he and I. And I pray it will continue that way for many years."