Nine months ago, our lives changed.
Nine months ago, we found out that our three-year-old has cancer.
For nine months, our lives have been focused on fighting for his life.
It has been hard. Ben has dealt with regular nausea, hair loss, hospital stays, losing weight from lack of appetite, gaining weight from steroid-induced hunger. He has had allergic reactions to meds that left him covered in welts that made him look spotted like a leopard. He has endured thirty-six intramuscular injections in his skinny little thighs. He has spent countless hours in the car driving back and forth to Orange County for treatment. And, through it all, beautifully, he is still the same wonderful little boy.
Nine months ago, our lives changed, but Ben is Ben. We are still us. Our family is still our family. Life changed, but life goes on.
Sometimes, in the thick of it, it is easy for my vision to close in. It is easy to become overwhelmed and forget that this is just a moment. It is not defining. It is a blip in eternity. It is a page in our story, but it is just that. A page.
Already the page is turning.
Ben moves into the second part of his treatment this week. He begins maintenance. He will still be on chemo. He will still have a compromised immune system. But, life should return to a little more regular rhythm. It is exciting and scary. The thing about turning a page is you don’t know what will be on the next one. Part of this is being ok with that. It is saying to the Lord, “I trust you,” and trying to mean it.
As I am typing this, my now four-year-old Ben it sitting across from me having some iPad time. His immune system is still too low to go grocery shopping with mom, so he’s hanging out with me at work again. I can’t help but keep glancing at him. Treasuring his presence. Reveling in his quiet, intense concentration.
Our lives changed nine months ago, but our life goes on.
This is just a page, and the page is turning.
Jesus, I trust in you.
Please help me to trust you.