In many aspects, we find ourselves fortunate. We rarely visit doctors since there’s little they can do for our situation. Our days are not consumed with hospital visits, our child is spared from harsh treatments, and we are spared the anguish of watching them suffer in pursuit of recovery.
The time we share with our son, Max, is precious, and our awareness of its finite nature has turned it into a gift. This lack of opportunity has, in numerous ways, fostered a sense of happiness—often greater than what we experienced prior to Max’s diagnosis. We have learned to cherish every moment, recognizing how lucky we are amidst the challenges.
Yet, I find myself feeling envious of other children. Envious of the possibility they have for a full life. Envious of the hope they embody. Envious of the treatments that might lead them to recovery. I deeply regret feeling this way; I would never wish the hardships they endure on anyone. The thought of losing a child is unbearable. Still, I would trade almost anything for just a chance for Max, instead. And since that’s not an option, I will dedicate myself to making each day meaningful.
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In summary, while hope can sometimes feel like a double-edged sword, it also has the potential to enrich our lives and foster gratitude. We strive to embrace every moment with Max, understanding that even in the face of uncertainty, each day carries its own significance.
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