Chana Scop

There are certain shades of colors that can only come to life from the black of night—vibrant, warm, incredible color that illuminates even the darkest room.

It’s now two hours since we have arrived and 16 hours since he last ate.

I caught a glimpse. Just a tiny little window into the soul of two brothers. A sight that covered an expanse of time and meaningful connection.

You pulled on me while you whined and screeched your loudest. And I just couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t hold it together.

I’m not sure who was more excited about the mail arriving—Chaim Boruch or his siblings. (Or maybe it was me.)

The doctors announced that Chaim Boruch would need swallow therapy. But I was nervous and scared. There was much I had to watch out for.

I savor the scene of Bubby with Chaim Boruch. They enjoy a closeness and bond that is unique and loving, full of laughter, playfulness and the incredible language of silence.

My five-year-old took a seat next to me on the couch. She looked straight at me and said, “So, what does having special-needs mean anyway?”

I had to hold back my tears. But I honored the space he would need to accept and love this beautiful addition to our family.

Now, his feeding tube has taken the place of chewing and savoring the taste of many foods—but primarily, the taste of Shabbat and love.