Thunderbolt

This morning Jacob and I are running the Santa Clarita 5K race together. Right now, he's nervous about getting separated from me (which I'll never let happen) and not beging able o finish. I have complete faith in him. It's only 3.1 miles. However, it is currently 45 degrees and drizzling outside. That's what I'm worried about. Going to be a cold one, my friends. UPDATE- 3:42PM To say that the run was miserable would be a understatement, but we labored through it and I'm so proud of Jake for completing the race. Sometimes it isn't about running the fastest or posting your personal record; sometimes it's just about getting across the finish line and saying "I did it." That's what today was all about and we have the medals to prove it.

Images and scenes of sick or dying children have invaded my dreams. I don't remember most of what goes on in my head when I'm sleeping, but the past couple of weeks have contained some sad, but uplifting moments that obviously tie to my fears for my son and his health. This morning, my dream began with me losing control of my bladder and having to take refuge in a disgusting, two stall shopping mall bathroom to wait for someone to bring me a fresh pair of clothes. While I wait, the miracle of dreaming dries my shorts and shoes and I decide to leave. However, I run into Julie, carrying some jeans and a T-shirt, and she insists that I go back and change. I return to the crappy bathroom and now it's got a line nearly going out the door. Among the people waiting is a teenage boy, maybe 15, confined to a wheelchair. his leg is in a brace and his head appears to be the only normal sized portion of his body. The rest of him is withered and sickly, barely there. The boy- a blond, c...