Who knew when that tiny hand reached out and grasped my finger, that it would someday grow larger and stronger than mine. My former micro-preemie now possesses man hands, broad shoulders and facial hair.
Who knew back when we received the cerebral palsy diagnosis that our son would someday ski, bushwhack, bike, and hike mountains. He may not get there in a typical way but his limitations do not ground him.
The kid moves, with a determined twinkle in those glacial blue eyes.
This past weekend, we camped up in the Mt. Marathon bowl with some other families for a Father's Day backcountry ski adventure.
Olive's first time skinning up without a chairlift. My gutsy strong girl proving, yet again, that there is no challenge she isn't willing to try.
We hired a helicopter to get Elias up to the tundra, but once in the alpine he trekked all over the uneven ground.
While others in the group headed higher up the mountain with skiis, Elias and I climbed up the snowfield with our green plastic sled and careened around rocks as we made our way down to the creek.
The delight on his face made the money spent to get him there so worth it.
A first for Elias and the pilot: Heli-sledding.
After one sled run, he fell in a hole when he stepped too close to a rock and his leg ended up thigh high in snow. He rolled on the ground laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. When his Dad returned from skiing, Elias had to show him the infamous hole-- and now days later, he repeats the story to whoever will listen.
"I love being up here! Do you love being up here?" Elias said often throughout our two days in the mountains.
I wish I could go back in time and whisper in the ear of a younger version of myself who viewed his new diagnosis as a sidewalk chain, as an unscalable wall to the wilderness: "There is still so much that is possible!"
As I ponder Elias's future, I need to remember this mantra as well. Yes, so much is unknown-- but there is still so much that is possible.
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