It’s not often that I get too personal on here, but I recently came across a writing prompt that really got me thinking. It asked, “What is your most memorable view?” The question sparked my memory and an image immediately came into my mind.
When you think of your most memorable view, you might think of standing on a mountain top or visiting a different part of the world for the first time. Not me. I see my son’s smile. This image is attached to so many emotions and a story I hope I never have to live again. It speaks a thousand words, but I’ll only share 556.
Ian Squire – July 8, 2012
When Ian was about two years old, he was diagnosed with viral induced asthma. This meant that whenever he caught a cold, or any other type of virus, his airways became inflamed and his oxygen levels rapidly dropped. Basically when Ian caught a cold, he ended up in the emergency room. Or worse.
In the summer of 2012, when Ian was 7 years old, he had a cough that quickly turned into a severe asthma attack. I took him to the closest InstaCare facility, but it wasn’t enough. They called an ambulance and rushed us to Primary Children’s Hospital. It was a long ride, but they kept him stable and let him pick out a stuffed animal to snuggle.
Once we were admitted, the nurses brought in bins of dinosaur toys and dinosaur movies (Ian was slightly obsessed at the time), but he could hardly keep his eyes open. Hours turned into days and they couldn’t get his oxygen levels up. I felt completely helpless and slightly hopeless.
My son hadn’t been my son in far too long. Oh, how I missed the spark in his eyes. I craved any kind of life from his perfect face. I spent every minute I had with him trying to make him laugh or talk about anything other than how miserable he felt. His countenance matched.
As this post is about my most memorable view, and not about Ian’s hospital stay, I will spare you more grim details. Finally Ian was on the mend. His oxygen levels were slowly rising. There was a light at the end of this dark, murky tunnel. In late afternoon, on the day before he was discharged, I sat alone with Ian in his hospital room. I had a thought to get out my phone camera and discreetly point it at him, ready to snap a picture. I’m so glad I did. And I knew just what to say to get him to smile.
“I bet you didn’t know that Parasaurolophus lived in the Jurassic period!”
I know what you’re thinking. Everyone knows that it lived in the late Cretaceous period. Nevertheless, my silly statement caused Ian to turn and look at me, the corners of his mouth slowly forming a smile. It was pure and sincere, the smile that I had been longing for. My heart melted as I realized my son was back.
That was the last asthma attack Ian had. I don’t think I ever realized what an impact his smile had on me all those years ago. That smile brought hope and light and calmed me more than anything else ever could have. It’s a view that I will never forget.
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