One Day

N is officially in remission! Praise God!

Yesterday, we got confirmation that N has no detectable cancer cells in his body. This gives us the green light to proceed into transplant phase, and until then, we will continue giving him chemo as we have been up until the week prior to admission.

Today, I have been overwhelmed with gratitude, relief, and a little bit of emotional exhaustion. As I go about my day frantically getting through my to-do list in my sporadic "down" time of an hour here, an hour there, my eyes continually well with tears as I think about the mercy God has shown me on this journey, and how much I hear Him saying to me on a daily basis, "I am with you. I am here." But my gratitude is coupled with so much heartache because for my sweet son, I can tell that the marathon is feeling a little long at this point. The limitations, the resurgence of body aches after every clinic visit, the bruises that almost completely cover both his thighs from the injections we give him twice a day, the constant nagging he hears of "be careful!" anytime he jumps, walks too quickly, or just tries to be a normal boy... And so my heart aches for him a lot, because for me, I can understand from my perspective what God is saving us from and the many ways that God is delivering us through our valley. There are countless others out there who would trade to be in N's position any day, and that reality has also been painful for me to realize as I entered this realm of suffering with other families. I get that. And I get that there are endless reasons to smile each day, to laugh, to have fun! God loves to see us experiencing joy. But for N, his limited understanding at his age only reveals to him how unfair his childhood has become. And so when we were celebrating with happiness in the doctor's office, N's response was nothing more than a tired smirk. He had already asked me last week, "What happens if I'm in remission?" He still has to get chemo, he still has to get shots twice a day, he still needs to get a transplant. That's all he understands, because he doesn't know the answer to "What happens if I'm not in remission?"

So while yesterday lifted a boulder of worries off my chest and brought me to my knees in praise for this opportunity of healing, there always remains an underlying ache of sadness knowing the earthly hell he has to walk through in months to come. One day, though, I know he will feel the same joy and gratitude I have for this moment. This moment where we know healing is the path he is on, where we have some assurance that that "one day" could actually be in his future now.

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