Small Thing

This isn't a post about a medical breakthrough, but a personal one.  Because of Mark's treatments last year he couldn't participate in the Primary Program at church, which I was pretty okay with for the most part.  It wasn't on the long list of things I was fretting about.  They were singing "I am a Child of God" as one of the songs, so I figured I would give him the opportunity to join them up on the stand for that one song, which was his favorite song.  At this point I started looking forward to seeing him up there as little darling Sunbeam singing his favorite song the way he sings it at home.  The day came, he wasn't feeling well, but we were there.  He was prepared and I walked him up to the stand to join the rest of the kids, but he lost it.  Cried and caved.  I took him out to the hallway were he kept crying.  It was just another way that he was getting robbed of his childhood.  Then I lost it.  Breaking down isn't something that I do very often, but for some reason that small thing was what broke me on that day.  (By the way, it turns out that crying is a great way to get your kid to stop crying.)   We pulled it together and went on with our day in our "new normal". 

Fast forward..

Last Sunday was again our annual program.  I'm sitting up on the stand with the kids as a new Primary President.  I turned around to steal a peek at my little boy sitting in the back row with his little classmates and WONDERFUL teachers.  I gave him a wink and a smile.  He attempted to work his facial muscles into an actual wink, but finally used his finger to force his eyelid.  We smiled and stared for a moment.  He went on with the program without a problem.  He did great.  He was happy.  I was happy. 

Small thing. 

Big thing. 

Life

There have been many developments in our lives since my last post. No doubt the handful of you that read this blog already know all about it.  Mark has Leukemia.  He was diagnosed April 10th of 2013.  We went from Cherry Blossoms to the emergency room with in a couple of days.  That first couple of months were hard, blurry, filled with pent up emotions and fear.  However, the feeling I had and still have at the end of every day is gratitude.  Mark's little friends made him cards, brought him gifts, had garage sales and lemonade stands on his behalf.  Church leaders, teachers and strangers wished us well, prayed for us and supported with hugs, meals, service and words of encouragement. Extended family members and friends made toys, blankets, pajamas, pillow cases and care packages that came for months.  All these people who stopped to help have burdens of their own to carry, yet they paused to do a little something for us when we didn't even know what was needed.  Every large and little gesture means the world to us.

It has been over a year now and chemotherapy is still going strong.  There are several more months to go, but now I see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It's far away and very dim, but I see it. 

 

Then he was three years old, weak from long stays in the hospital, shaky from medication.  Now he will be five years old tomorrow.  He's strong, still shaky, sweet and growing up.  I'm thankful for the tantrums, the "outside voice" he uses inside, the jeans with the holes in the knee from playing, and the messes of trains he leaves behind him wherever he goes.  Because he's here.  He's fighting cancer and he's winning.