“Is this a dream?”, the boy asked his mother as they stood in the hallway waiting for the elevator.
“What do you mean bu this is a dream?”, his mother asked curiously.
“Is this a dream that I am going home? Can you pinch me? The boy replied
The mother pinched him ever so gently with a slight tear in her eye realizing the impact of this little conversation.
This was the conversation Lennon and I had Wednesday of last week as Lennon was going home. He had minor surgery the day before to fix his gastrocutaneous fistula, in other words, fix the hole in his stomach. And he handled everything like a champ.
The waiting in the pre-op lounge was a breeze as he packed himself a bag of his favorite things: his stuffed cat, Ninjago Lego’s, his Ninjago Lego Book and his little Gameboy. He played the entire time, periodically voicing he was hungry. Once we were called we went into the pre-op area, he changed into the gown, laid in the bed and was watching Cartoon Network. He was quite happy about that since we don’t have cable or satellite tv 🙂
He was so calm.
The 40-minute procedure turned into 2 hours – the doctor didn’t anticipate or calculate in the scar tissue he had to battle with. Overall though Lennon did amazingly well. In recovery, we were met with familiar faces (faces we hadn’t seen in two years) and loved catching up on the progress Lennon has made. He was grumpy as he woke up – but nothing like he used to be – only wanted food. We waited to go upstairs into a room for one night for observation and making sure his prograf levels would go wonky.
Lennon enjoyed his time with cable television but the following day he shared this with me:
Mom, I want to go home. I don’t want to be here anymore. I mean I like it here, but I just don’t want to be here anymore. I just don’t want to miss my childhood.
And this is my response: There is an amazing maturity shining through Lennon. Those moments come and go but when they are here – I am at awe with the wisdom of his life.
And then home we went – like it was nothing.. not a dream – it was real.