Three years ago today I was dragging my suitcase around a children's hospital. Ralphie and I had a harrowing flight through dying thunderstorms on the hospital's airplane early that morning.

The thunderstorms were not the only thing dying.

My hope was dying. The afternoon before my husband and I sat in a conference room at our local hospital with Ralph's team of doctors. There was not much more they could do for him there except wait. ECMO was available at the children's hospital. A last resort.

I sometimes wonder why I have the need to remember Ralph's dark early days in such detail. I can almost still feel the numb sort of pain.

But when Ralph comes up from playing in the basement and I find him covered in red marker it all makes sense. (He even colored the bottom of one foot!) I can laugh about this instead of getting upset. I can see how far he has come. I can enjoy and appreciate him more, knowing how close we came to losing him.

These days we sit on the steps after school, wave good-bye to the bus, and he shows me what he made that day. Priceless.