Scar Tissue

There's a piece in the New York Times today about scars. I read it early this morning and I've been thinking about it most of the day since, and mostly in context of C's scars from when he was sick. I love the bit in the piece about scars being "signposts of optimism."

As I've written, he's had some difficulty in accepting his scars in the past. For years he wouldn't talk about it, hid it, and the big scar had a name so he could talk about it in code. But in the last two years he's become more comfortable with his big scar and runs around at the beach and the pool shirtless regularly. I don't know if anyone has asked about it. I have noticed that - just as we told him it would - the scar has stayed the same size while he has grown (he'll be taller than me by Christmas, and I'm not short). The scar appears smaller now. Phew.

Anyway, I brought the article home for him to read. He did. He thought it was weird.

I don't know what I was expecting. He's thirteen, after all. I suspect it will hang with him a bit, and the line about optimism will percolate to the surface when he needs it. At least I hope so.

At any rate, in the accompanying Well blog piece linked to the article, there's a comment:

"I tell my children (and myself?) that if you die without any scars you haven’t really lived."

I don't know about you, but I have lots of scars.