Three years ago today, while I held my 16 month old baby boy in my arms, I called my parents (who live out of state) and tearfully told them they had to get here fast because I knew my son was going to die. He had been sick for weeks, unable to eat much of anything, and throwing up what little bit he managed to get down. He had lost weight, and had gone from sweet and happy, to inconsolably fussy, to weak and lethargic. There was an emergency MRI scheduled for that afternoon, because a pediatric ophthalmologist was concerned about something he'd seen during a follow-up exam the day before. Hours after calling my parents, after the excruciating wait for the MRI to be completed, we heard the words, "There is a large tumor in your son's brain." Life as we knew it ended that day three years ago, and it would never be the same again.

Today I proudly watched my now four year old son enthusiastically participate in his OT session, where he continues to make incredible progress. It has been a long, hard journey since that day three years ago. There have been surgeries, long hospital stays with lots of chemo, a stem cell rescue with life threatening complications, two relapses, more chemo, gamma knife radiation, a drug trial, and radiation to his whole brain and spine. There has been three years of OT, PT, and ST. The very first goal was for him to turn his head to the right again. Since then, he has learned to sit, stand, and walk again. He has learned to swallow, eat, and talk again. He is still gaining strength, coordination, and motor planning skills. He has vision and hearing problems. He is brave, and strong. He is sweet, loving, and funny. He is happy, and joyful. He is inspiring. He is one of the most amazing children you could ever meet. He is Collin, my hero. ❤