This is lammy.
Or lamby.
Who knows.
Lammy is one of The superheroes in Leo’s story. He has a stuffed head and a satin backed blanket body. He is a required item for bedtime. The funny thing is that as soon as Leo’s left hand touches Lammy, the right thumb goes in the mouth.
Docs are 95 percent certain that Leo is going to survive. Lammy’s chances are nowhere near that good. Every chemo visit is hard on Lammy. Tape has to get pulled from Leo’s pic site.
He cries. Lammy is soft.
The sedation room is scary for Leo. Lammy’s soft satin passes underneath Leo’s thumb until he falls asleep. Then Lammy supervises doctor and nurse alike. Then the soft lamb keeps watch over my lion cub until he wakes.
When the confusion of the hellish combination of hunger pains and a wrecked taste pallet overwhelm, Lammy gives comfort with his familiar smell.
Oh and Lammy needs a bath. Soon.
Sometimes Lammy becomes ambassador for his life is going because the difference between a good mood and a mad mood is tenuous and thin. Sometimes Lammy’s best bid is not doing well but he’s coping. And that’s ok. I don’t need my dude to be happy. I just need him to process the hard moments and hope for the good ones.
I learned that from my Father.
Good outweighs bad every day. Some days Lammy smacks me around because eggs don’t taste good. And I wonder in those moments…
Does the person who oversaw Lammy’s synthesis know that I daily thank God for their hard work? Do they know how much what they made is doing? It is a precious site to see Leo’s little finger tangle in the ribbon that makes what used to be a bow and move slower and slower until he sleeps.
Love, Them 