You Took My Son's Last Breath, Chronic Lung Disease, But You Didn't Win
When I first met you, you terrified me.
I’d already met your friend, heart disease, the day I met my tiny newborn son.
The word “disease” is scary enough, but throw “heart” in front of it, and then “lung”… Well, you two were a terrifying pair.
I watched you play your games in my son’s body. I saw the mean tricks you played on him and the way you messed with this momma’s head and heart.
I saw you tighten your grip on his tiny lungs more times that I can count. You made him turn blue and gasp for life and breath.
You changed my life and made me fight harder than I’ve ever fought in my life.
You forced me to make decisions no mother wants to make.
We one-upped you, and our son received a tracheostomy.
Breathing became a little easier, but you still had more up your sleeve.
You caused his weak little lungs to become extra susceptible to illness and infection.
We faced setback after setback, but we fought you tooth and nail.
I learned how to force oxygen into my son’s tiny body when he turned blue. I learned how to operate medical equipment that shouldn’t be part of any child’s nursery.
But guess what? You’re not the winner here!
My son fought and lived and loved his life.
He taught us all so much about love, joy and hope.
He proved that miracles happen. Yeah, remember that one time you just made him quit breathing all together? That one time the doctors told us to prepare for the worst?
Well, it seems you’re not stronger than a miracle.
You’re not stronger than faith and hope and love.
But I learned a lot from you, chronic lung disease.
I learned that every life is worth fighting for.
I learned that I can do hard things.
And most of all, I learned that you did not define my child.
Dear Chronic Lung Disease,
I’d like you to meet my son. He’s not defined by his organs.
This is Matthias Samuel Loux.
In the end, one day, his heart would stop because of the fast one you pulled on his lungs on August 21, 2014.
But he lived for almost four years in spite of you, and he lives on because life is stronger than death.
This is Matthias Samuel Loux. Lover of music and books and Mickey Mouse. Champion of laughter and big smiles. Known to turn heads and turn a dark day into light for those who were downcast.
This is my son, Matthias Samuel Loux, my brave, beautiful, handsome son with deep brown eyes and a head full of soft, delicious curls. He had a crooked finger and lots of scars. He couldn’t talk yet, but he spoke loud and clear to anyone who glanced his way.
So you may think you’re powerful, chronic lung disease, but this boy overpowered you every day of his life.
You may think you have control of breath and life, but this boy taught us all how to breathe.
He was my daily reminder to breathe in life and soak up every moment with a grateful, joyful heart.
You may have taken my son’s last breath.
But you didn’t win.
And love taught us all how to breathe.
This post originally appeared on From the Heart.
For all of March, The Mighty is asking its readers the following: If you could write a letter to the disability or disease you (or a loved one) face, what would you say to it? If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to firstname.lastname@example.org. Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio.