One Year

Yesterday marked one year from Henry's diagnosis. Like many earth shattering events, I remember practically every detail. Some of which I hadn't thought about for some time. Henry's stumbling on the soccer field, unable to stand; heading to the hospital emergency room, thinking the chances of something really serious were small; the absolute terror and disorientation when the doctor told us of the tumor.

Tara and I felt the need to recall the day, to mark it somehow. But it came and went with nothing but a whimper. Perhaps it's too early, too soon after the event. Since we've come home from the hospital and treatment, each day, for a while, was like a weight lifted from our shoulders. Maybe before, our anxiety was eclipsed by the sheer busyness and stress of what we were managing our family through. Now the anxiety seems like a very slow-healing wound. You can dismiss it for a time to get through what you have to, but if you happen to bump it, you relive the pain intensified by memories.

The day before yesterday my nephew was taken to the emergency room, then to Children's Hospital in DC for an infection. Things are going better for him and he may be released soon. This was too close to home at such a time. The thought of the little guy in a hospital bed, IV in his arm, nurses, interruptions, tests. It's just not something you want to see a child have to endure. While I'm sure the last couple of days have seemed an eternity for them, I'm relieved it's been short.

Many of you have remembered us on this one year. We've learned so much over it's course, but one of the most impressed lessons upon us has been one of humility. We're so touched to be remembered, thought of, considered and cared for. We are still standing and realize that it's not been without help. So again, we thank you.