A year ago today. Yes, a year ago today everything changed, forever. The day before was a walk in the park. Literally. We took Amos for a walk in the park along the cool shady Ogden river on a hot July day. The next day he had an appointment with his pediatrician to check out a bunch of mysterious red dots on his body. Now we know to call them, petikiai. A year ago today I was making a sandwich when Christine called from the pediatrician's office to tell me to get myself together because we had to go down to Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City immediately. "It could be nothing, or it could something really serious." She had a dead serious tone coming from the pit of her stomach. It didn't feel like nothing when she pulled in with him in the back of her Jeep and sprung from the driver's seat with an urgency I hadn't seen from her, ever. A year ago today Christine was white knuckled in the passenger's seat as I drove faster then I ever have down interstate I-15 into the city. Anyone who's rode with me knows I am barely a "five-over" kind of guy. I will never forget the doctor's face in the emergency room. He came in and sat down and said, "It looks like some form of Cancer. We are going to get you guys checked into Oncology and go from there. It is needless to say this, but it is going to be a tough road, and for a good year to come even if everything goes well." It felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the room, and straight out of my chest as well. Christine and I simply sat there. She rocked Amos in her arms. He laid calmly and comfortably looking up at her, just an eight-month old baby boy. A year ago today I stepped outside the hospital to try get some air back in my lungs, and try to make some phone calls. A year ago today I knelt on the sidewalk and wept as my first call was placed onto the wind to whatever power runs this show to let it be known, "You can't have him yet. You can't have him yet. You can't have him yet." Then I called my parents.
^A few days later I wrote the worst Facebook post I never thought I would have to. I uploaded a recent picture of Amos in his new Samurai outfit Christine and I had gotten him in Japan just a few weeks earlier on our fist vacation away from him since he was born. Then I typed the word Cancer in the box where Facebook asks, "What's on your mind?" with shaky hands on the keyboard. The warrior metaphor seemed fitting. A year ago today it was just a cute outfit, now it is a symbol of the perseverance of the smallest of warriors. Amos Michael Robinson. Our now nearly two-year old son.
^Today Amos still has a long way to go, but today he gets to play in the backyard with his best buddy Murphy. Today Amos doesn't have to be poisoned with chemotherapy on a monthly basis. He doesn't have to endure mouth sores, fevers, nausea and excruciating pain. He doesn't have to fight so hard. Today, Amos gets to be a kid. Today, we are so grateful for even just another day with him.
^The classic food face pictures, the classic first steps, the classic things every kid does every day that now we feel so fortunate to get to experience with him day-to-day. The little things he gets to do every day that a year ago today we might just very well have taken for granted.
^He gets to cuddle with Momma without IV chords attached to a large rack of machines. He gets to snuggle with his puppy Murphy under the living room with a mountain view. He gets to chase Grandma Kay around the house pushing his Mickey chair across the perfectly smooth hardwood floors that his Uncle AJ refinished for him during the hospital stay. He gets to lounge in his play tent chocked-full of cuddly stuffed animals from people who sent him their love from every corner of this wide world.
^He gets rides in a new wagon. He gets to almost be like a regular kid. Almost. As I said, he has a long way to go, but right now, today, he is the #HappyHealthyAmos that we all hoped, prayed, and posted our hearts out with loving messages of kindness and generosity about. His story reached across the wireless world of social media pages and all of our networks of relationships to touch so many people in so many places. He made us take stock. He made us say more "I love you's". He made us give more hugs. He made us all better people, and he was only just barely a year old. Today we are simply more thankful and more appreciative for everything this human life experience provides. Today we are all vastly more humble then we ever were just a year ago today.
^A year ago today this little golden pup, Murphy, lost her family for a year too. Yesterday, Amos' Uncle AJ had to put down his own dog, Bailey. Today that makes me squeeze Murphy a little tighter, and appreciate her a little more fondly, as I remember that even she too also suffered since a year ago today. Christine and Amos' giggles as Murphy got a turn to ride in the wagon on this day is the greatest gift the miracles of love, a god, and this practice of modern medicine can provide.
I am literally writing this post from the backyard as Amos plays in his new water table, still careful not to get his broviac line wet, but none-the-less splashing around and giggling along with his Momma and I, his Grandma, and his puppy. A year ago today everything may have changed. Indeed, after a year ago today, nothing will really ever be the same. However, after enduring everything that has happened and now sitting here in our backyard typing and watching him play on this particularly beautiful sunny day, I know that maybe, just maybe, if we keep getting lucky, that every day he has from now on could be even that much better… better then I had ever imagined it could ever be again when I was knelt outside the hospital on that sidewalk and weeping... a year ago today.
