Today, almost 10 months later, I still go to sleep almost every night thinking about Lucas' last days and how he struggled to breathe and hang onto life. Although painful, I don't want to forget. As my breathing slows, I am engrossed with thoughts of what he must have gone through. I try to imagine how he felt, but I know I can't come close to grasping his situation, but it's enough to grip me and that makes me appreciate just how incredibly brave he was.

Lucas had a nickname he gave me, it was "Dodi". It was a word he made up on his own. A few days after Lucas died, I learned that phonetically, "dodi" means "my uncle" in Hebrew. In addition to being a brave, lovable, and thoughtful, Lucas was pretty smart too.