I am so proud of you! You have handled every challenge that Leukemia has thrown at you with class, grace, and courage. I can’t believe I have waited so long to write you this letter. As I write this letter to you now I am dealing with the reality that you may never be able to read it. However, I write it with the hope that you will. I write to tell you how proud I am of what you have already accomplished while I am watching you daily fight a battle that I can’t even comprehend. In my minds eye I replay the last couple of weeks as we watched your body slowly decline. We had no idea or ability to even know what was going on inside your body. You were getting stronger every trip to the therapy. You were practicing even harder at basketball. Coach Shep kept sneaking you into the game even longer every week! We were so proud of you and happy for you. You showed why we call you, Rocky!
We never imagined that you would suffer so much from your bone marrow transplant. Dr. Davis and Dr. Gordon both told us how horrible it would be. It all played out just like they said but they could not convey just how much you would suffer. Yet, you kept pressing on. You did your therapy. Your did all of your daily cleaning which became very panful once your mouth sores and ulcers developed. This doesn’t even take into account all the days you spent completely strapped and taped into a chair for thirty minutes of full body radiation. My stars son! I don’t know-how anyone let alone a 12 year old can handle what you conquered this past summer. To say I am proud really doesn’t do you justice. I am amazed by you.
The straight truth about it Andrew is that you are already everything a man is suppose to be. You are humble and kind. You are a gentle soul. Quick to defend the weaker. Even quicker to stand against the bully. You are gentle to the little ones and your heart is full of compassion. Your smile is genuine because you are so genuine. Your daily life is a routine of suffering and struggle and yet you exhibit precisely what it means to be full of life. When you weren’t allowed to go to the Leake Football games you’d watch from the truck with as much joy as if you were on the sidelines. You rejected every opportunity for self pity and embraced every moment with a deep appreciation for life. I stand amazed watching you live!
I should have written this letter already. Of all families, we should not be the one who takes time for granted. Yet, even we take time for granted as we get use to death’s reality in our world. We still put off to tomorrow expressions of love that should be given today. And now, your mother and I sit daily and watch you seem to be lifeless as machines keep your body alive. Although your body often seems to be lifeless, the monitor makes it clear that you are not only alive but you are fighting. I know I tell you I love you all the time. But watching you in the bed with the breathing tube going down your throat I can only think about, “did I show you well enough?” Did you really know? Do you know? We have lived with the knowledge that leukemia could possibly take your life for almost 5 years. But this is the first time that death has been at the door. Every night I say good bye to you because I must go home and take care of your sisters. I put on all of the disease control gear and stand by your bed. Through my rubber gloves, I touch your face and rub your head. Hoping it gives you comfort. You can’t hold my hand. You can’t communicate with me. You can’t look at me. Between the mask and all of the wires and tubes I can’t even kiss you. I simply tell you over and over again that “Daddy Loves you” and that “I am so proud of you” and simply look at your precious face. And every night I say a final good bye not knowing whether or not I will see you alive again the next morning. It is a nightly final good bye. And every night your life flashes through mind. I see you throwing the ball as a little boy. I see the girls jumping up and down every morning by your crib screaming, “Andrew’s up! Andrew’s up!” I see you playing Canton and Ole Miss every Friday afternoon in the front yard until you were utterly exhausted. I see you dressed for church looking just like me with your blue blazer and Leake Academy tie. I see you walking the field with Yadi Molina as if you were talking to a friend. I see you heart broken in life. I see you climb into my lap after being told you have cancer. I see you asking me, “will I ever wake up again?” when I told you they were putting you on the breathing machine. I see your life and all we hope for it to be every night as I say good bye.
So I write this letter to tell you that I am so proud of you and love you. And I pray that one day you will be able to read it. I pray more that one day you will know how true it is. But right now I need you to know that there is nothing you can do to make us more proud of you! And like Christ’s love, there is nothing you can do to cause us to love you anymore than we do. You’ve never had to earn our love and you couldn’t earn it if you tried. We love you period and full stop! Win, lose, or draw we love you. Your physical battles with Leukemia and pneumonia will not ever change that nor can our love be changed.
Now hear me, Little Man! Listen to me son! Do you hear me? Huh!? Do you hear me!? I know you probably can’t really understand me or truly hear me but listen anyway. I know you can feel me! Fight! Get up in that bed and fight! Don’t quit. Don’t slow down. Don’t have a pity party. The sun comes up and the sun goes down and all you can do with it “Take Care of Your Business!” and finish the fight! I know you're down. I know you you are knocked down like never before. Ain’t nothing ever hit you like this pneumonia has hit you this week. And nobody in the world would blame you if you want to quit. And nobody would blame if you felt like it isn’t worth it when life is a constant fight with leukemia and pneumonia. But life isn’t about being satisfied with just showing up. That's not how we roll. Now you fight! Not for me and momma. Not for your sisters. Not for all those who love you. You fight for you! At the end of the day this is your fight. It is about you and nobody else. You have a cloud of witnesses and supporters cheering you on but it is your fight. You finish it! I can’t fight this for you! I don’t care how bad this Pneumonia is it’s hard to beat someone who won’t ever quit fighting. So press on and fight to the finish. Come ON Rocky!
Get up out of that bed and knock it’s block off! Cause Daddy Loves you!
In Christ,
Love Daddy.
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