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On December 21 at 11:20 a.m., the ventilator tube was taken out and we made it home a few days later, just in time for Christmas. I wrote this letter to Hunter in the midst of everything:

Hunter, I’m so sorry that Mommy can’t make you all better, little buddy. I will never fully understand why you must suffer so much. You’re amazing, incredibly brave, and more handsome than any prince. Your irrepressible determination to beat this disease is astounding. I’m so proud of you.

I have asked God why. Why another broken bone? Why kidney stones? Why pneumonia and apnea all the time? I’ve asked Him for you, honey—so that maybe I would have an answer for you. I was in such a fog today wrestling with all your hardships, and what God reminded me of is this: You are here. You’re alive, little buddy! I praise God for today. We have today and that’s it. Thank you for being you, Hunter. The Lord is your shield and your hiding place. He will protect you and lead you home, soldier boy.

Chapter 12

Hunter at Eight

Year Eight, 2004–2005

Once again, my journal entries shift from recording memorable moments and prayers to simple love letters to Hunter. Most of my 2004 journals are filled with letters and vignettes to my son, as well as Scriptures and quotes that were significant during our journey.

After reading through my journals and Hunter’s schedule books, I realized there was so much that had happened that I’d forgotten about. Since Hunter was no longer a toddler, he was able to experience a lot of different and exciting adventures. Young boy adventures I still can’t believe we allowed him to participate in, like snowmobiling, sledding, and playing with reptiles. Hunter holding a twelve-foot yellow python and a baby alligator is not the safest activity, but I guess that’s what boys do. And despite my misgivings, I felt blessed watching my son have so much fun.

February 1, 2004 (Hunter’s Haven Lodge [Jim’s hunting lodge located in Ellicottville, New York, on 150 acres of God’s country])—Maybe Mommy’s a little crazy, or maybe I love you like crazy and that’s why I let you go sledding and snowmobiling. It’s amazing how things change. I was able to let go of my fears so that you could enjoy some fantastic winter fun.

Hunter, can you believe it? You did it! You actually went snowmobiling. Daddy would’ve been so proud of you. I can’t wait to tell him all about it when he gets home from the Super Bowl. Even though I’m a cautious snowmobile driver, it’s a good thing Grammie had a tight grip on you. Aunt Dodie and Justin drove the four-wheeler so that your suction machine was always close, just in case you needed it, but you did great. We were a sight to see. I could tell that you were having so much fun, and even though she was a little nervous, I think Grammie had fun, too. I hope you weren’t cold, buddy. We bundled you up as much as we could without turning you into an abominable snowman.

Hunter, the bunk-bed fort you built at the lodge was so cool. I forgot the special password to get in, so you’ll have to tell me it again. Oh, and I think it’s very exciting that you know how to play pool now. You little pool shark. I don’t even know how to play, so you’ll have to teach me. I love you, little soldier—more than you know.

April 2, 2004—Every day you grow more handsome, Hunter. I’ve never met anyone so beautiful. You’re so tall (44½ inches) and getting heavier by the day, but I can still carry you. Don’t worry—I’ll always carry you. I’ll just find some new apparatus so that I can carry my boy anywhere and everywhere. If I have to I’ll design it, and Grammie can make it. We’ll call it the Hunter Pack. Even when I’m old and gray, I’ll carry you. You are a light in our home that shines and radiates with such brilliance. You are so fun to be around and take care of. We all love you so much.

And how about your best friend, Robert—isn’t he a blessing? Your friendship is a priceless treasure, a gift from God. Every time the two of you get together it’s an adventure. Robert always