Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

Last week, I was a guest on a podcast and within twenty four hours of it airing I received an unexpected message on Instagram.

“Was your son treated at Loma Linda Children’s Hospital?”

She then proceeded to tell me that when she first started her job as an X-ray tech, she remembers assisting in a surgery of a boy who was attacked by his dad’s police dog in their backyard. She said:

“If it was him, then I’m SO happy that your son is doing well!! It is a blessing to hear a good story after they leave the hospital!”

I couldn’t believe, after all these years, that she remembers Hunter. She expressed how traumatic it was for her to see a young child with such a bad injury.

I have often wondered what it was like to be in the surgery room, as a medical professional, with Hunter. I could only imagine the thoughts that ran through their minds as they thought about the attack and how Hunter’s life was forever altered.

What an incredible occurrence that the person wrote me that message just so happened to stumble across the Latter Day Lives podcast and even more, that the first episode she chose was one she was personally connected to. She ended her message with, “Thank you so much for your faith and positivity! I needed it this morning.”

I don’t know if I will ever be fully comfortable with people knowing about such an intimate part of our lives. But after our names and pictures landed in national headlines, it felt like our story was on runaway train. I had the choice to get on, make the best of it and tell it how I wanted it to be told, or I could let words written by strangers be the only ones out there. I have obviously taken control of our story and this person reminded me that it is one of faith and joy. I hope to continue to share it and spread happiness like a giddy Kindergartner with glitter.

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