Two years ago it was snowing, just like today. Snug inside, I held little, five month old Jack. I remember letting him fall asleep on my chest, careful not to touch his back or bump the drains pinned to his shirt, or the tubes that lead from the drains under his skin. His back was a war zone, bruised and bandaged.

For those of you who are newer readers, I should back track to two years and five months ago when our little guy, Jack was born. Shortly after his birth we learned he had a congenital birth defect: a giant melanocytic nevus. An extremely rare (1 in 500,000 births) condition where potentially cancerous concentration of melanin cells forms in large areas on the skin. Jack's nevus was 10cm by 14cm and covered about 80% of his little back. Undetected by ultrasound, we were shocked to learn that there was something "wrong" with our newborn. The first few months of Jack's life were filled with appointments and then on February 8, 2013 he had his first surgery in the two-surgery removal process.

I can remember how I felt holding him after his surgery: helpless and afraid. He was in pain and there were so many instructions for the care of his incisions, his meds and then on top of that the thought of starting to 'inflate' the tissue expanders that were placed under his skin. I was afraid of more surgeries and having to watch him endure more pain. I was afraid of infection. I was afraid of a future of bullying because of a gigantic scar that would cross his back once everything was done.

Holding him, sleeping on my chest, as the wind whipped snow around our house, I cried. I cried for his pain. The seeming loss of innocence. The fear and the utter unknown of what lay ahead. It was (and still is) one of the most difficult and defining moments of my life.

Today is much different. We made it through the surgeries, Jack fought off a staph infection and now our worries with him are whether or not he is climbing on the counter or jumping off the couch.

Though he bears a scar that spans his back from armpit to armpit, he is vibrant and alive. There may be a day when Jack resents his scar, when it is a source of embarrassment. But for his Dad and I, Jack's scar is a source of pride: Jack has been tough and brave in ways he's not aware of yet. And when we look at him now, knowing what he has been through I can't help but love that scar.

[Tweet "Scars: beautiful proof you are a fighter"]

Shortly after Jack's second surgery my Dad sent me a link to this video. Scars don't have to be embarassing. Scars can be beautiful proof that you're a fighter, that you're brave, that you have overcome.

[vsw id="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bixGXFVCow" source="youtube" width="425" height="344" autoplay="no"]

You can read more of Jack's story HERE. And find out what I'm doing to try and make a difference for The Children's Hospital at Dartmouth Hitchcock HERE.

What do your scars mean to you?

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Scars: A beautiful reminder of strength

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