Living in the Moment - The MLB Home Run Derby Story

Shawn Jr. had a hard day yesterday. He slept much of the day, struggled to speak and was (at times) a bit confused.  All of these symptoms are a result of the carbon dioxide building up in his body.  It is so hard to see him like this.  

I have not shared some of the most private and powerful moments of this experience on this blog (yet).  I am really just using this blog to update people and capture a few thoughts.  Some of the stories will never be told publicly.  Others I might feel up to writing about someday.  Some are almost too big to reduce to writing.  There have been a few times that have reminded me that I must live in this moment with all my heart, mind and soul.

One of these times actually relates to the MLB Home Run Derby.  Last Friday Shawn was struggling to breath and wake up.  He was sitting on the side of his bed, slouched over, and I was kneeling on the floor, holding him up. He had not spoken in over an hour (despite being “awake”).  He came to for a minute and said, “That’s a dumb rule.”   I said, “What do you mean Shawn?”   We were, some time ago, talking about hospital visiting hours.  I thought maybe that’s what was on his mind and he wanted to get back to that.  He said, “For the Home Run Derby.  That you have to wait until the ball hits the seats.  That’s a dumb rule.”  I said, “I think so too, Shawn.  Let’s watch the Home Run Derby together on Monday.”  It took me about five seconds - and then I just started crying.  I knew he was confused and losing it a bit mentally.  It was a change in his status I was NOT prepared to process. 

Fast forward to Monday.  We are in the hospital and we turn on the MLB Home Run Derby.  Shawn Jr. has been quiet and struggling all day.  It’s hard for him to talk and stay awake.  We have lots of people in the room.  We wake Shawn up and let him know the Home Run Derby is on.  We help him stand up.  He motions that he wants to sit in a chair by the bed.  We turn the chair around to face the television.  I sit down on the bed next to him.  His friends and family are all around.  He turns to me and says, “I love you Dad.”   I was floored.  I say, “Thank you son.  I love you too.”   

He has told me he loves me, independently, maybe 5 times in his life.  Yesterday was one of those times.  

I had Misty take this picture right afterwards.  

These are the kind of special, emotional and meaningful moments that are happening every day right now.  

Shawn is struggling.  I am not sure how many days we have left.