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As kids often do, they carried on for hours. While I watched them play, I wondered what Hunter was thinking as he listened to his sisters. I often pondered over how extraordinary it was that my daughters chose to pretend that their dolls were sick rather than healthy. Was that their way of expressing their love for their sick brother? Or in some strange way were they revealing their pain in the only way they knew how?

Little did they know or understand how difficult it was to take care of Hunter. And yet maybe the incredible joy we all felt blinded their eyes to the crushing pain.

Camryn was very affectionate toward her older brother. It didn’t even cross her mind that she might be a little too rough with him. From the time she could toddle around on her own, she always made her way over to wherever Hunter was. Whatever he was doing, Camryn wanted to do, too. Like a little shadow, she constantly wanted to be next to her big brother. If Hunterboy was lying down, stretching and exercising, she was, too. If he was upright in his stander, she wanted to be strapped in when he got out. If Hunter had school, Camryn wanted to learn, too. Hunter’s therapists, teachers, and nurses were patient and mindful of Cam’s desires and tried to include her as much as possible.

A few times, to our amusement and dismay, Camryn tried to get a little too involved in Hunter’s care. Once we caught her on camera trying to give her brother chest therapy. With percussor in hand, she laid her head next to Hunter on the couch and put her hand on his back. If we hadn’t intervened, I’m sure she would’ve started pounding away. Oddly enough, I think Hunter would’ve liked it, at least for a few minutes.

He loved his sisters. Whenever the girls were around, Hunter would raise his eyebrows and his eyes would light up and sparkle. His body also seemed to relax whenever his sisters would snuggle up next to him. An indescribable, unspoken love radiated from my children whenever they were together. Watching them was truly incredible.

As day after day, month after month, and then year after year went by, I could see that the girls were developing emotionally and spiritually in a way few children get to experience. A significant part of who the girls were, and who they are today, is because of their incredible relationship with their brother, Hunter. God was allowing them to vicariously experience the physical pain of suffering while at the same time allowing them to actually feel the intensity of unconditional love. They daily witnessed what disease can do to the frail human body, and as a result they appreciated the blessing of every breath.

They were learning how to be compassionate, caring, and merciful in the school of heartbreak. Even at a young age, they already knew more about life and death than most of us learn in a lifetime.

Chapter 8

Hunter at One and Two

I journaled as much as possible throughout Hunter’s life, writing mostly about special things only a mommy would appreciate or milestones only I would consider huge. Things like a good or bad night’s sleep, losing teeth, good bowel movements, holding hands. I also chronicled the continued brokenness of a mother’s heart as my love for Hunter grew ever deeper. I prayed a lot in my journals as well. So in the midst of most of my entries describing a typical or not-so-typical day for my son, I would break out in prayer and praise. Praise for all that was and all I hoped would be.

My journals are full of intimate memories. Its pages are stained with tears of joy and sorrow—and my morning coffee. They are torn and wrinkled with fear and failure, hope and heaven. Exclamation marks, circles, hearts, underlines, and scribbles are all part of this well-worn evidence of a mother’s plight to save her son and, ultimately, let him go.

Answered and unanswered prayers are recorded in my journals, too, as well as the laughter, the sobbing, the screams of anguish, and the silence. The silence speaks the loudest. Sharing my journals is like giving