Part 2 👇
The surgery took four hours.
When I woke up, my right arm ended in a thick white bandage.
I could still feel my fingers. The doctors call it phantom pain.
It felt like my hand was there… and it wasn’t.
My husband sat beside me.
“They got all of it,” he said. “You’re staying with us.”
Three days later, my mom brought Grayson.
He walked in slowly, holding a balloon.
He looked at the bandage.
He looked at my face.
Then he looked at the bandage again.
He didn’t say anything for a long time.
I wanted to hide my arm under the blanket. But I didn’t.
Then he set down the balloon, walked all the way around the bed, and stood on my left side.
He picked up my left hand and held it, very carefully.
“I have two hands too, Mom,” he said. “I’ll just switch.”
My mom started crying in the doorway.
My husband turned toward the window.
I held my son’s hand so tight he said, “Ow,” and then giggled.
The months after were hard.
Learning to tie my shoes. To cut food. To write my name with my left hand.
Some nights, I still cried when I saw my arm in the mirror.
But the first morning I walked Grayson to school again, we stopped at the corner.
I didn’t have to say anything.
He grabbed my left hand without even looking.
“Still warm like a blanket,” he said.
To everyone who prayed for me that night… thank you.
He still holds my hand.
If you believe a child’s love always finds a way, please send Alicia a ❤️