I have a friend who’s daughter is recovering from cancer. She is an amazing kid and they are an amazing family. The father is the nicest guy in the world. In addition to the daughter, they have two other children, including a 10 years old sun who I would describe (unoffendignly I hope) as “mildly austic”. Syndey, the daugher, publishes a regular blog about her cancer battle, and here is her post from 9/11/11:
On August 30th, 2001, I became an older sister to my brother, Reed. He was beautiful and healthy, and we couldn’t be happier. On the morning of September 6th, Peri started her first day of kindergarten, and I went to preschool. It was also the morning of what was supposed to be Reed’s bris. That morning, Reed stopped breathing and was rushed to the hospital. We were told to make funeral arrangements, because he wouldn’t survive the weekend. My dad didn’t go to work for the rest of the week. Reed survived the weekend, but doctors found two large holes in his brain. Then we were told he would never walk, talk, sit up by himself, or have a personality. The night of September 9th, my dad decided he had
to cancel his business trip for the morning of the 11th. He was due to fly to San Francisco on United flight 93. Ten years later, Reed is a healthy, fun and normal child, and my dad is still here with us today. I am so thankful to have both of them alive.