My memory is terrible. Thank goodness.
I had forgotten, until returning to the TS Clinic in Cincinnati, how bad things used to be.
As Luke galloped around today, flapping and giggling, in the waiting room I flashed back to a memory from last year.
I remember shuffling behind Luke, holding the back of his shirt to catch him before he hit the floor when the seizure would take hold.
I remember running into the hallway holding Luke, yelling at Dr. Franz to hurry up if he wanted to see Luke seizing with the hopes that him seeing the episode in person would unlock some secret to our freedom.
I remember coming in for a check-up and bringing an overnight bag just in case they admitted us.
My mind has held these memories captive, protecting me, guarding me, until it knew that I was ready.
I was able to remember today because time is magical.
Ten months of smiles and eye contact and hand holding and hugs that don't end with the tonic-clonic rigid pulsing that I had grown so accustom to.
Ten months of memories made at school and therapy and church and our new home that don't get washed away multiple times a day by the storm.
Ten months of being a son and brother and grandchild and friend, not just a patient.
I once thought time would heal by helping us forget, but time is what allows us to feel strong enough to remember.
Mother of two amazing little boys, one who just happens to be a TS warrior.