I’m not at all sure what is going to be uncovered in the next few months about my baby boy’s condition. And though we have to remain positive because that’s fair to him and to our oldest son, it’s hard to know how much we can take. I always thought that these awful things only happen to people who can handle them. I’ve learned that that is a false premise put to us by the human desire to wish away reality. There’s no God doling out pain to the populations who can handle it. There’s no limit, either, of what has to be endured. We simply must take what we get. We must take the information, process it as best we can and then we have to change baby's diaper and feed him and answer questions about Star Wars for our four year old. Why is Darth Vader bad? Why does he want to fight Luke Skywalker? Why are there some good clones and some bad ones?
Yes. These questions must be answered. Why does the baby have something maladjusted in his brain? Why would he have seizures when we are healthy and the pregnancy was healthy and we did everything right?
How do you make a lightsaber? Why are there different colored lightsabers and do they hurt when you strike a bad guy?
Darth Vader didn’t mean to turn bad, I say. That’s just in the cards that he was dealt. He tried to fight for what was right, I say. He didn’t know that he’d have a breaking point and lose himself in the sadness and frustration and anger and the challenges that were put in front of him. He didn’t know, I say. He forgot how to love.
That was the dark side. Forgetting that what makes us human is love. The element that lets us wield blue and green lightsabers and not red ones. Because we all are going to get a chance to decide whether to join the Sith Lords or not. What are we made of? Some of us might end up being Darth, I say.
But not us, my four year old says. We won’t choose the dark side.
No, I say. I don’t think so.
