One year.

One year ago today, we got the call from our pediatrician that rocked our world. We went in expecting possible appendicitis and ended the day with a cancer diagnosis. Talk about shock. 

Recently I was cleaning and came upon the paper that I had scribbled notes on before packing our bags and heading to Temple for the first of what feels like hundreds of times. I shared a picture of the note with a friend and she mentioned how you can see the panic and fear in my writing. 

And it’s true. Scribbles, print to cursive and back, misspelled words. And those little stars next to “65% blasts on smear?” That’s screaming CANCER. 

The last picture I took on her diagnosis day was actually early in the morning on the 18th. We had finally gotten settled in a room on the floor and she had drifted off to sleep. I requested to speak to the doctor, wanting confirmation of what we were expecting. The resident who had come in to check on us was hesitant, but the sweet nurses could tell that I needed this. They assured me that they would call the attending in to visit with me. And he did. Some kind doctor came and sat next to me while Adeline slept peacefully, and he confirmed- leukemia. I knew he couldn’t tell me any more than that, but I needed to know so I could at least try to rest a little. When he left, I settled in the recliner as close to her as I possibly could and snapped this picture. I’m not even sure why I took it, but I did. 

And while I definitely still felt fear, the panic had been overtaken by peace and resolve. Determination. The knowledge that we would do everything in our power to come out on the other side. Before I left the house that night, I grabbed Todd by the shoulders and said, “We can do this. We ARE doing this.” And we were. The second I got the phone call, we were already doing it. 

Today feels heavy and hard. There is a lot that we have lost in the last year, and a lot of little griefs along the way. And I recognize and acknowledge them, allowing my body to process and grieve. Grief of the loss of normal and naïveté to the realities of pediatric cancer. But I received two amazing messages today from my sisters and best friends. “...take a moment today to embrace all you’ve gained and not only all that you’ve lost. Celebrate how far you’ve come and not just how far you have to go.” And “365 days of HARD. 365 days of heartache and grief. 365 days of appointments and chemo and unknowns...AND also you’ve shown 365 days of bravery. 365 days of strength. 365 days of endurance and perseverance.” 

And dammit, they’re right. I spent most of the morning in bed, sleeping and hiding under my weighted blanket. Sad at thinking of the last year. But I will spend the rest of the day celebrating. 365 days of bravery and strength and endurance and perseverance and courage and determination, and...and...and...

Tonight calls for Prosecco and ice cream and a celebration of my little family. Because we ARE doing this. 🧡