It's weird that the day has felt so unbearably sad, when by all accounts it should be a day of triumph. She is here. She is magnificent. She endured challenges not rightfully presented to a child, with a grace that is hard to understand.
But instead it is a day when our gratitude for today is partially clouded by the grief of all that is lost. Grief for Celia and Quinn who will always carry the burden of their interrupted childhoods, of painful and frightening memories, of parents often too distracted or damaged to give them the environment they needed. Grief for Hope who lost so much time to be a child, to explore her world and play with other kids, and who may still suffer from as-yet-unknown late-term side effects. And grief for Greg and I who face too many moments of dread when a bruise seems too big or too sudden, when a cough or runny nose cause an internal spiral into terror.
There's also the innocence that we all lost together - you and I. We will always know intimately the world of pediatric cancer. Children given diagnoses infinitely more devastating than Hope's. Parents who dutifully follow the protocols and maintain brave faces, only to lose their children in the end.
Tonight some other family is heading to the ER. They are hearing those words. They can't understand how this could be happening to them.
Tomorrow the sun will come up and we will, all of us, put one foot in front of the other, and count another day. Some are counting down to the end of treatment, while others are counting up to the milestones of post-treatment as the odds of relapse dwindle.
Tomorrow it will be time to push aside the grief for awhile and refocus on the overwhelming gratitude.
Tomorrow Hope will get up and go to school. She will hang up her backpack and return her homework book ("The Snowy Day") to the book bin. She will sign in and practice a few letters for a warm-up. All the while, she'll be greeting each new friend who arrives for Kindergarten. "Look! It's Alana! Alana's here!" And when I meet her in the courtyard after school, she'll give me a running hug and proclaim, "I had a great day!"
