Luca

It was a sunny October day. My husband, Anthony, and I sat with our three kids—Ella, seven; Luca, five; and Zoe, two—as they drew with sidewalk chalk in the driveway. The whole family was enjoying the last bit of nice weather before the winter. Everything felt warm and peaceful.

- Katherine Suliveras

“Look, Mama! I’m drawing Mario!” said Luca, scribbling with red chalk.

Of course. Luca was obsessed with the Nintendo video game character. “Very cool,” I said.

Luca clutched the red chalk in his little hand. “Red is a nice, hot color,” he went on. “Fire is red. Mama, do you remember when I was in the hospital and I was on fire?”

I froze. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Anthony and I caught eyes, and I could tell both of us were wondering the same thing: How could he possibly know?

All the memories from that traumatic time, the ones I tried to forget, came flooding back. Luca was born on September 20, 2007—a perfectly healthy 10-pound baby. But three weeks later, he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain, with a fever that wouldn’t go away. We rushed to the hospital. They gave him medicine and hurried to hook him up to a bunch of wires and machines. The doctor said Luca needed to stay for a while so they could run some tests and find a diagnosis.

The next couple days were a blur. Anthony and I set up camp in Luca’s hospital room. My mother drove up to watch Ella. Luca’s fever wouldn’t go down. No one could figure out what was wrong.