When you are in the middle of what seems like a never-ending bleed, you function in the moment, hoping that things get better soon. Living with a chronic condition has helped my family learn to look at things in a positive light, and I like to think it has helped me become someone who sees the glass half full, where hope lives and life is better.
In the world of bleeding disorders, it’s easy to get stuck in the dark. Gloom and doom, inhibitors, insurance companies…it’s a dim, yucky place. It’s almost like a dark cloud that stays over us despite the sun shining.
Several years ago, I was walking around the campus at the University of Denver with Caeleb, who was two at the time. His little hands touched everything. The crisp, fall day brought everything to life, especially the crunchy leaves. His imagination was in overdrive as we explored a new place. I needed a break and was looking for a place to rest when we came upon a beautiful chapel. It was quiet with the smell of incense lingering in the air and the windows were made of stained glass. It was absolutely beautiful. I captured this moment as my Caeleb was examining the marking on the carpet (probably from a vacuum cleaner).
When I look at this image so many years later I see something that is absolutely poetic. My son’s journey with hemophilia and inhibitors has been extremely difficult and I have always known that the difficult moments were going have meaning someday. In this picture I see my son looking to the light with his shadow looming behind him. He doesn’t see it, but I do.
I am glad he did not see his shadow that day. Shadows can be scary and overwhelming, but when you move one step at a time toward a shadow it becomes larger, and so do your possibilities. They are endless.
For my Caeleb, when I look at this photo today, I see his endless possibilities:
I see a future for him that is filled with hope.
I see a future for him that is bigger than his imagination.
I see his future, not defined by hemophilia, but by his strength and courage.
I have not a clue what is in store for my warrior, but what I do know is that he is the strongest most resilient person I have ever met.
I am honored to be his mom.
Cazandra lives with her husband, Joe, and 19-year-old son, Julian, and 9-year-old son, Caeleb, in New Mexico.
*Note: “Infusing Love: A Mom’s View,” is a blog collection of personal opinions and a representation of individuals experiences. While extensive efforts are made to ensure accuracy of the content, the blog entries do not represent HFA or its Board of Directors. The blog is also not intended to be construed as medical advice or the official opinion/position of HFA, its staff, or its Board of Directors. Readers are strongly encouraged to discuss their own medical treatment with their healthcare providers