dear pratt.

dear pratt,

most of my life i have heard my dad say, "at least we have our health." he always said it when i felt like things were crashing down around me and didn't know if i'd make it through the night.

by the time you read this, you'll understand that your mom is a bit of a drama queen. and she tends to overreact to most everything. whit/coco always says, "take whatever han says..and divide it by 3. it's there you'll find the truth."

anyway, i never really knew what he meant as a kid. i mean, about having your health. sure, it was great. i felt great. rarely sick. and cookie would make me go to school sick or not. and we had to throw up at school to come home for a sick day. true story. so having my health was pretty much guaranteed for me.

i guess it's only recently that everyone seems to be sick. maybe it's because i'm older. and i'm more aware now. and as a kid, i was sheltered from so much. or maybe it's because we use too many pesticides on our crops. and we eat mcdonalds french fries and we order the "gotta have it" from cold stone creamery.

i don't know what it is. if i could figure it out, i'd be rich.

my grandparents died when i was little. the closest thing i had to a grandmother was someone named joyce morgan. i wish you had known her. she was one of the sweetest people i have ever known. memories of her house are some of my favorites. she bought spencer and me this gigantic coloring mat. you used markers on it. and it was as big as her living room floor. she would sit on it with us and color. my favorite memory is how she would sleep in the bed with us. the three of us would pile up in the guest room...deborah's old room...and spencer and i loved it!

when i was in junior high, she was diagnosed with cancer. a brain tumor. slowly, the cancer took her from us. at the time, she was the only person i knew with cancer. but because of her...and only her...i was convinced that i'd be a doctor. and i'd cure that horrible, nasty disease.

i got so close as one year of medical school. and three years of working in cancer research. i learned from those four years that i wasn't strong enough to do it. that my heart wasn't strong enough. that crying with patients is not what they needed. i was big enough to get out. big enough to admit that i was wrong. and that i had made a mistake. something that wasn't easy for me...but life isn't always easy.

recently, so many people i know have been diagnosed with cancer. too many to list here.

and so i can hear my dad's voice in my head..."at least we have our health." he is such a smart, wise man.

i look at you so often and wonder what i would do if something happened to you. i just don't know if i could make it. but then i remember the strength that i had when you were first born. far from us in the nicu. and i remember that i did it then somehow. somehow i survived.

and it's then i thank God that i'm a child of His. that i'm a believer. because i know that it's the one and only way to get through this. to get to the other side. the bright side. the happy place.

may you never know sickness. may it be so long before you experience any type of loss.

but if it happens sooner, rather than later...may you know He is always in control. always. and one day, one day i promise it will all make sense.

i love you little man.

mommy.