Dear Gage,
You’re eight! It completely boggles my mind that eight years ago today I looked into your eyes and held your little body close to mine and realized that you were not only responsible for fulfilling my dream to become a mother, but you allowed me to witness the man I love fall in love with his son instantly. As your father held you for the first time, never having held a baby before, I witnessed a bond form between a father and son. 
It’s been quite a year. Just this year I mean. It’s approximately 5 weeks into the year and it’s already filled with stories of you and what you’ve been through. Last year was quite a year for you too and I know you know that my world has revolved around you. From your education, your body, your health, your soul, your happiness, your comfort, your smiles and laughter, I have been the one responsible for making sure your needs were met. It’s an overwhelming responsibility and an awesome one. (click image to enlarge)
You ended your school year last year (Kindergarten Take 2) having moved classrooms 10 weeks before the end of the school year. It was a rough ending to a rough year. At the time none of us realized how badly you must have felt while your body steam rolled into acute renal failure. As the summer unfolded it became clear that a kidney transplant was no longer in the faraway future. You did start reading though, and when you behaved yourself at school you did well. Last year was your year of the behavioral mishaps. We knew it was bad when a good day for you only included tripping a deaf child in the hallway. The end of each day while I read your daily report could make me smile with glee or cry with frustration, depending of course.
You made the most of the summer that you could. Although you liked Zoo Camp it was a bit on the hot side for you in the Southern heat and it took a toll on your body. Each day though when I picked you up you would talk about recycling, bats, animals and you would sing the songs you had learned that day. You also went to the camp at our church which is your favorite because it included yoga and crafts and painting and cooking. The four things you would rather do than anything, except maybe climbing a tree.
You enjoyed our trip to the PKD Conference. You played with other kids who have crappy kidneys like you. And I remember thinking that one day I would be able to say "Remember meeting Luke? Well his kidneys are just like yours and he will get a new kidney too someday!" At the time I didn’t realize how soon that would be or how fast you would grasp the concept.
In July we went to the beach. You played hard all week long with your cousin Andrew. You loved the sand more than previous years. And the waves! You couldn’t get enough of those waves. Hours long of wave jumping. And sand playing. At the end of each day at the beach you would look so tired your eyes would be stuck open from exhaustion. It was on that trip that I realized that all you eat could come from a convenience store – much to the dismay of your nutritionist at Children’s Hospital.
While sometimes raising you brings me to tears because of what you go through (and what you put ME through) I wouldn’t trade you on most days. You are fun to be around. You are a trickster! You are sneaky too. Your dad thought we lost you in a 30 minute span after you went to bed one night. We couldn’t find you and we couldn’t understand how you got out of the house while we were able to see the front door. For at least 20 minutes we looked for you and called your name. Did you have mercy on us? No. You hid from us…and laughed when you finally showed yourself.
In September we met with the transplant team to start the process of your kidney transplant. Little did we know at the time within three weeks we’d host a run/walk and raise almost $70,000 for PKD research, that you would have a catheter put in and that you would start dialysis. Ignorance truly is bliss.
You’ve handled dialysis remarkably well. I thought you were much more fragile than you are and you’ve grown so much while understanding your medical challenges. You don’t mind talking about surgeries, blood, kidneys, dialysis, medicine, needles, doctors and even how they have to cut you to get a new kidney in your body…you say "But I’ll be asleep Mommy! It won’t even hurt!"
I believed that I witnessed your dad’s heart breaking when we realized he wasn’t able to give you a kidney. He said that even when he felt inadequate as a father (he’s not by the way) that giving you a kidney was the one thing he could do for you without fail. When he couldn’t donate to you it rocked our world and shook our faith.
You’ve not had much of a social life since dialysis started, but you still live a full life. You take karate! And you love it. You are really good at it Gage. We are so proud of you because we know it can be difficult to go to dialysis three afternoons and then karate two afternoons. I realize you don’t get any weekday awake time at home, but you are doing okay. We’ve made an executive call in that regard and we’re fine with the decision every time we see you step on the mat.
Your inability to be social outside of school is the hardest aspect about renal failure. And although you have no play dates with friends you still have friends. All of your friends think and worry about you, send you notes when you are in the hospital, and are very excited to come to your birthday party. Which…we’ve had to postpone because of your new cath surgery. We’re into day three post surgery and FINALLY you are able to sit up. We might just make it out for your dinner of choice. You have decided that you will decide later if we go out or we order in. Of course, I had to force you to sit up but we did it together by deep breathing, my talking in a low voice and you crying through the pain. We did it together.
We knew a long time ago that your life wouldn’t be what people think is normal. But it’s our normal and we’re okay. We’re not better for it or worse for it we’re just moving through life doing what we have to do as a family. You are extremely resilient. I had no idea how resilient until this actual acute renal failure debacle. You have your moments of frailness but don’t we all.
Today especially, nothing scares me more than to realize your survival is dependant on group of people who all have to do their jobs to the best of their ability, at the same time. And all of these people don’t know you like I know you. They are a group of people who don’t feel pure bliss in their soul when they witness you climbing a tree, planting an herb, or learning what a dime is worth. And I want them to understand what a bright light you are in my world. And that losing you would mean part of who I am would be gone, like some of my heartbeats and some of my breathing.
It is your ability to live a full life, in spite of the role of sick kid, that keeps me focused to help you live it abundantly. It is you who forces me to be more than I ever thought I could have been in the role of mommy. It is your smile, sense of humor, love, tenacity, and zest for living that cover my inner soul with an imprint so deep that for as long as I live I will feel it and always know that you were meant to be the one to put it there.
Thank you Gage. For being my Inner Soul Imprinter (TM). Happy Birthday Sweet Love.
I love you,
Mommy
Several ideas came in and out of my mind this month for the Get Your Craft On challenge. Of course, February was HEART month. 
logo. I must admit I even impressed myself. So much so that I made two more that week for other nephews. I will admit it took me a couple of tries to flip the image on the iron-on transfer paper. 
o, here is the reversible cape with a hearty Q and flowers on the Harliquin side and a jester hat with little heart poms on the other. My Quinny B. had my craft on. 
The transplant committee (made up of all the doctors I met with yesterday/today and CH reps) will meet on Wednesday 2/21 to see if I am the candidate for Gage. 
