THING 1, 2 AND 3

Dear Christian

Once again I begin a blog by starring at your sleeping face. Cheeks pink from the heat of your tub, newly grown hair sweaty from being bundled up in your nicey. Late June means beautifully bright evenings and the sun just happens to be shining through the blinds and illuminating you like you are a piece of art. The soft glow of light makes you look angelic, peaceful.

Fun at the waterpark

Yesterday we returned home from our amazing trip to Panama City Beach in Florida. It was a two weeks full of sun, beach, pool and enjoying being together as a family. That was until you, Evan and Ryan all got sick in the same evening. I was angry at first but then I thought, “well if we have to stay inside and nurse fevers, sore throats and coughs – at least we can watch and listen the ocean roll in and out while we do it!” So here we are at home – still sick but enjoying our beds and toys. There were so many great moments from our trip. Starting with watching you in the ocean. You loved to kick and punch the waves as they rolled in. You became so brave with your lifejacket on as you openly swam around the pool. Remembering what a little fish you used to be before you got sick. Listening to you and Evelyn play hide and seek around the condo when you didn’t feel like going outside. Evelyn lost because she would always hide in the spot you had just hid in, so funny and innocent. Watching Ryan, Papa Norm and you play mini hockey for hours on end on the living room floor. Getting stuck in the elevator was a first for us and something we will always talk about. Watching you develop more and more confidence with each day, doing things independently and proudly like a big brother should.

Panama City Beach at sunset 

Walking on the beach - my fav

Today I seemed to get sicker and sicker as the hours waged on. A sickness I can’t seem to shake. Now that we are at home and I have no ‘medical responsibilities’ I feel a little empty and unsure about my days. Today I burst into spontaneous tears at the thought of my uselessness. You came over to me and brushed your hand across my cheek and held my chin and told me how much you love me. I seem to lose my patience so quickly and anger at things that don’t normally bother me. I worry about things that are not mine to worry about. I wonder about what other people think of me and the decisions we have made as a family. Then I looked at your face tonight and I felt God saying to me, “I love you” and I remembered that I don’t need to please anybody or satisfy somebody else’s agenda. You reminded me that my purpose as a mom is to teach you how to develop a relationship with God, trust God and trust your family. And I know you will learn these things by watching me and Daddy model them to you. So my fears and anxiety about my shortcomings can blow away like the sand on the beach. I know how much I love you and God loves you SO much more than that, and He loves me and your daddy and Evelyn and Ryan just as much. So thank you for reminding me how to be a good mommy. Thank you for accepting my apologies and telling me, “its ok to be sorry because I love you SO much” (stretching your arms and legs wide open so I know just how much you love me).

Like your footprints in the sand you have left a permanent impression
on my heart 

I am already thinking about your next scan, and the next and the next. I feel confident in your healing but that horrible little voice on my sore shoulder says to me, what if? The night sweats when you first fall asleep, the sore tummy, you not wanting to eat and crying in your sleep. These things scream at me, “see? Its possible.” But satan has no place in my home or on my shoulder. I rest in God’s plans for you and for our family. We got your end of treatment road map (a schedule of your appointments, tests and scans for the next five years) and a letter indicating the official end of your treatment. I am sure this is going to sound silly to everybody but your dad, but I feel such sadness. Not because you are done but because I feel alone, I am no longer surrounded by people who are experiencing the same thoughts and feelings that I am. I can no longer stand in the kitchen on Unit 1 and listen to another mother cry her frustrations and reciprocate my insecurities with complete understanding. So I am going to work very hard at letting this part of our life go. Yet I want to remember it all; I want to remember the fear I felt the nights I wasn’t sure you were going to make it, the exhaustion I felt during your stem cell transplant, the terror I felt the first weeks after your diagnosis, the horror of seeing you asleep in your body cast for radiation, the heartbreak I felt upon learning of your cancer regression, the joy I felt at hearing the amazing outcome of your surgeries, and the unabashed love I felt each time I watched you struggle with your chemotherapy. The love of the Lord endured throughout this 15 month fight. The light of God kept our path clear and our hearts full. Letting go……  so tough.

Sunset walk with grammy to look for shells

The words are clear to me today, Christian, I love you and your daddy and your brother and sister so much – my heart is full with the gifts I have been given. Not the physical things I can touch but the gifts that only the heart can feel. My heart beams with pride at your fight, your ability to love. My heart beats wildly for your sister’s passion and curiosity. Her cleverness and honesty, “Christian, come into my room and play dress up with me!” My heart swells with each day of Ryan’s developing personality. He is so cheeky and firm. He will truly be a force to be reckoned with in these coming years. And my heart just knows that he will protect you and Evelyn with a loyal fieriness only brothers and sisters know. Once again I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a strong, faithful and Godly little man already; I wonder when my heart will finally burst?

So much love,

Mommy

Ready for the flight home

Hello ? Could i be any cuter?

Enjoyed the waterpark more than anyone!