He was 7 when he got diagnosed with a bleeding disorder.

At age 10, he had his spleen removed as a “cure”.

It didn’t cure him.

This evening while I was watching the sun set over the corn field, I glanced over and saw a transformer box.

I remember that my son used to sit on top of a transformer box when he was struggling the most with his bleeding disorder.

Every week it seemed we were either getting blood tests, or he was being admitted to the hospital for treatment.

Outside the crappy, 800 square foot garden apartment that I lived in with him and his two siblings, the transformer box stood by the parking lot.

There wasn’t a lot to do in that apartment. Not enough space. Outside, there were no swing sets or slides. He climbed on the grey metal box.

It scared me to death. I was so afraid he’d fall off and hit his head, causing a brain bleed.

One day he did fall off, landing on his bottom…and causing a huge hematoma to arise, fearsome and purple.

Straight to the hospital we went, and another hospitalization ensued.

That was nearly three decades ago.

I had forgotten the constant anxiety I lived with for many, many years.

Now my boy is healthy, married, and a wonderful human.

I’m grateful.