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I held Jacob's hand as he slept and my eyes drank in the sight of him. I studied his facial features closely, trying to commit every single detail to memory. I never wanted to forget an inch of him. He was sleeping deeply now and the pain medications had finally given him some relief. After several rounds of failed chemotherapy, his tiny body almost looked as if it belonged to a ninety-year-old man.

I couldn't help but remember my beautiful boy on the day he was born. I was consumed by the love and joy I felt the first time I saw his face. He was my miracle child after six years of infertility. Andy and I had both cried when the nurse handed me our baby. Falling in love with my son, Jacob, was like coming to life all over again. Motherhood had given me emotions I never knew I was capable of feeling.

And, there I was, staring into Jacob's eight-year-old face and wishing I could do something, anything to take his sickness away. It was in my nature to protect Jacob at all costs, but leukemia was the one thing I could not ward off or save him from. It broke my heart to be so helpless and a part of me felt like I had failed my son in some way. It was torture watching Jacob live through everything he had lived through as a result of such an aggressive form of cancer. It was hard to comprehend how an innocent child could be afflicted with so much pain and sickness.

Suddenly, I was remembering the bone marrow biopsy Jacob had endured. Jacob had been sick with what we thought was a bad flu that wouldn't go away. After the blood tests and spinal tap, the doctor wanted more tests. Despite the local anesthetics, Jacob still experienced a lot of pain, not to mention how terrified he was. When I saw the size of the biopsy needle piercing my child's skin and sinking into the back of his hip, I felt rage. When I heard the shrill sound of Jacob's cry, I felt murderous. I wanted to leap across the table and strangle the doctor. I wanted to punch the nurse and throw the large needle against the wall. Instead, I held Jacob's hand and stroked his hair, fighting back my own shrill cries.

We had been hopeful despite hearing the words "acute lymphocytic leukemia". Andy and I stayed up all night one night reading everything we could. Surely our son would respond to the first round of chemotherapy and then go back to being a happy, healthy boy. We were convinced this was something we would get through and eventually put behind us. We were a happy family with the resources to get our child

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