1. A Gift of Purest Love
In the darkest days of our lives, when the sterile scent of the hospital and the hum of medical machinery surround us, God sent an angel with four paws and a wagging tail. I watch Will pull that tiny puppy into his chest, and for a fleeting moment, I see a spark in his eyes—a light that chemotherapy and PET scans have tried so hard to extinguish.
I thank God for the unconditional love of this dog. This puppy doesn’t know Will is sick; it doesn’t care about tumors or declining blood counts. It only knows that Will is its entire world. Watching them play, my heart feels both warmed and suffocated by pain. That love is so pure it makes me weep.
2. A Prayer for an Ordinary Future
Lord, I am not asking for wealth or fame. I am pleading for an earthly healing for my son. I am begging for something that millions of other mothers take for granted, but for me, feels like a luxury beyond reach: Please let Will live long enough to watch this puppy grow old with him.
I envision Will ten, fifteen years from now—a tall, strong young man with this puppy, now an old, grey-muzzled dog, hobbling faithfully by his side. I ache to see them grow old together, sharing cold winters and bright summers. I want Will to experience the full circle of a loyal friend’s life, rather than leaving this puppy to wander an empty room, searching for a master who isn’t coming home. God, please, grant Will a life, not a premature goodbye.
3. The Shadow of a Second Farewell
There is a pain that human language is inadequate to describe. It is the agony of burying the child you brought into this world. And for me, this pain is not a “what if.” I have already stood before the grave of one child. I have already felt the icy, permanent sting of that separation.
Just the thought of burying a second child in this lifetime is enough to paralyze me. My heart is already a map of scars, and I do not know if I have the strength to let it be torn open again. As a mother, I am screaming on the inside. This is the limit of human endurance. No mother should ever have to say goodbye to her children twice.
4. Will – The First One to Steal My Heart
Will is my firstborn. He is the one who first taught me the meaning of motherhood. I still remember the exact warmth of his tiny body when I held him for the first time; it changed my life forever. He was the first one to “steal” my heart, the first one who showed me how vast love could be.
To witness my firstborn—my greatest pride and joy—be ravaged by this cruel disease is a form of torture. Watching him fight for every breath and every moment of peace, yet still finding the strength to smile at his puppy, fills me with both humility and awe. Will is more than a patient; he is a warrior, the very light of my life.
5. Living in Gratitude and Hope
We do not know what tomorrow brings, but until God says “No,” I will continue to plead. I am grateful for every second Will is here, for every time his hand reaches out to stroke that soft fur. These memories are treasures that no virus or malignant cell can ever steal.
I believe God is listening. I believe the love of a community—mothers who are strangers to me but share the same heartbeat—will create a shield of light around him. A miracle isn’t just the disappearance of a tumor; it is the strength to keep standing, to keep loving, and to keep hoping for a tomorrow where Will wakes up and smiles again.
6. A Cry from a Bleeding Heart
If you are reading these words, and if you are a mother too, you know. You understand the feeling of wanting to trade your own life just to give your child one peaceful day.
I am asking you, please don’t just read and scroll past. Stop for just one second. Send a prayer, a wish, or a spark of hope for Will and his puppy. Help me keep the faith that miracles are real, and that a mother doesn’t have to weep for a second parting.
“A mother’s heart is pleading… If you are a mother too, please leave a prayer for my boy and me below.”
Lord, I trust in You. Please continue Will’s story with long chapters filled with happiness and health. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
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