My sister’s family gave me a Polo shirt a couple of Christmas’ ago. I love it — it’s so much nicer than what I’d go out and buy for myself. It’s a white and blue striped button-down. And it’s very comfortable. It’s a good looking shirt — one of my favorites.
I just noticed a brown, faded spot on the sleeve. And I got chills.
It’s a stain. A stain from my youngest son’s blood. He bled all over me the last time I wore this shirt. I was holding him, trying to comfort him as he woke up badly from surgery. As he thrashed around, he pulled the IV out of his hand and covered me with copious amounts of blood.
A quick thinking nurse fixed his hand and soaked my shirt with Hydrogen Peroxide (It’s what OxyClean is in case you didn’t know). Nearly all of the blood washed out of my shirt. Except for this one spot. This one spot of his blood.
As I looked down at it, I thought about him. I thought about all the struggles he has gone through in his life. I thought about what a perfect little guy he is and how much I love him. His blood is my blood. And just looking down at the faded brown spot triggered powerful emotions that I’m unable to explain.
Being a parent is like that. It’s a power that I never comprehended until I became one.
I could wash this spot out — I used to be a janitor after all. But I won’t. I’ll keep it as another badge reminding me of a father’s love of his son.
Wow. So would I.
I understand those ‘spots’. Mine may not be from the same trauma, but they still remind me of where we have been and where we are going with our girls.
That is so awesome!! Again thanks for sharing.