My Son Lex was burned over 30% of his body on Nov 2, 1997. It was his 8th birthday and it was spent in an ICU for the next 2 weeks. Lex has grown much in the last year. He has grown in his self-esteem as well as physically. What I can only hope is that if I had an accident anything like the one my son had, that I could find the same courage that my son has had through this past year. I hope to update this page often and put in some links that can help you to learn more about sever burns and the long road to recovery for the whole family. Most of all for you to learn about the same courage that burn survivors seem to know how to use in their world. This is an open letter to my son written about half way through his recovery.
Son,
I am sitting thinking of you Lex. I find my mind wandering back to the day you turned 8. All of my being hurts for you at this moment as I try so desperately hard to find a reason for this hard time in our lives. Still trying so hard to grasp a concept of what I should have or even could have done to save you from this pain you experience now.
As I was lying asleep I awoke to the sound of my own terror echoing I think only through my own mind. I hear myself screaming as I try so hard to break the glass window you are behind as the flames push upward toward your face. I feel intense fear my son. Fear of what is happening to you, maybe fear of my own helplessness, I am not sure which at this moment is the most accurate.
I waken and find that I am soaked with sweat and shaking with the realization of what has happened. I look into your room and I know that right now at this moment in time you are safe. I only know that back there in that moment you were not and I was not able to help.
In my mind right now I am wandering back through hollowed memories. Remembering the softness of your skin the day you were born, remembering the smell of your soft skin as I held you close, looked into your bright eyes and thought of the wonder I held there. I remember wondering at that time how I could raise you and do justice to the life that God has intrusted me with.
I remember the look on your dads face as he smiled with great pride in what we had made. The amazement on his face at the lovely little boy we had. I remember thinking I only hope I can honor him in your rearing.
I remember the tone in your dads voice that day that phone call reached me. The fear and confusion that was there, and the sound of the pain that he carried for you. I wish I could have taken that from him then as well as now. I know it is a day he will never forget as I will never forget..
I remember you coming in just last summer and showing me how much "like an Indian you looked." I remember the joy on your face as you told me that you were so "proud of this Indian skin" and that you would "wear it every summer." Now I know that we are NOT truly native American but I marveled and the respect you have grown to have for our native brothers.
I see you now my son, and I see hurt and fear so much of the time. I do all I can to take some of that from you and I find that I can't do it. This is a scar that must heal it's own way inside of you. I watch you as you are wretched with pain when those "owies" must be cleaned and I know that it hurts you and that when I do this wound care that we both hate so much, I only wish you could know how much I hurt with you. I saw the anger in your face this very evening when you said to me "mom I will never look like an Indian brave again!" I also remember the pride you showed when I said "but you are the bravest little Indian brave I know!"
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