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I am just finishing up our nightly bath routine with my three children. My oldest son is last in line, and I am thankful. I like to linger a bit with him. We tackle those dirty feet that never seem to come completely clean no matter how hard we scrub, or how much soap is used.
As he relaxes in the water, almost completely submerged, my attention is drawn away from his feet to his entire body. It’s become almost unrecognizable to me. I stare at the 6-inch vertical scar on the back of his head — our constant reminder of the golf ball-sized tumor removed from his brain. I focus next on his completely bald head, the effects of radiation treatment used to destroy any cancer cells that remain. I then look at the large incision site above his right forehead. The remnants of his second brain surgery to implant a shunt is still healing.
I marvel at every inch of this beautiful 8-year-old boy as I learn to accept these physical changes, all the while telling myself he is still that marvelous boy I know and love on the inside.
I desperately long to have a conversation with him — to listen to all his feelings and fears he has as he faces cancer. Yet I cannot have this, or any conversation with him for that matter. You see, my brave young son has not only cancer to contend with, but severe autism as well. You might think this young man, having faced so many obstacles in his short life, would have almost no fight left in him. Quite the opposite is true. His spirit is unbreakable. His laughter as infectious as ever. His blue eyes sparkle more than ever, as if to convey he has the answer for which so many of us have been searching.
Even though he has never uttered a single word, he has spoken volumes to all those that love him. He has taught me to be patient, compassionate and to accept all that I cannot change. Perhaps his greatest gift to me thus far has been teaching to take absolutely nothing for granted.
I never ever tire of listening to my 4-year-old son’s endless questions. I am sometimes spellbound as I watch my two younger children engage in typical sibling interactions, and even fierce rivalry.
I never thought I would be almost (and I emphasize ALMOST) thankful for his autism. But now, in a strange twist of fate, I feel that autism has provided our family with the mental and spiritual preparations to rise up and meet this — the greatest of all challenges a child can face. As we continue to forge ahead in fighting to win this new battle, I know I can continue to look to my son to lead the way.
Lisa Crognale is a fierce example of strength and a mother of three in Lower Swatara Township.
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