Author: Ellie

THANK YOU

Dear ones, from our family to you…

THANK YOU.

Because of you, in honor of Chase’s 14 years of life… wow, just look at these numbers!

$1,789 for Cal’s Angels wishes to be granted for kids like Chase.

$8,749 [$4,374 each] to be given to Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation and Lurie Children’s Hospital – specifically to help families like ours [ARFF] and to promote further pediatric oncology research and better care [Lurie].

A grand total of $10,538.00 going out into the world to say “Hey, cancer doesn’t get to win today on any level.”

You all blow us away with your generosity of heart and mind! And as we turn to Christmas and making memories, as we take joy in Chase’s stability (he’s been back in school this week!), I just wanted to send out a final thank you.

Truly, we could not do any of this without you.

Moment by moment.

[Ewoldt Family holiday picture, taken by Margaret Henry, 2023]

Of Birthdays and Good Things

On Tuesday, December 12th, Chase turns 14! Isn’t that a miracle?!

This year, he (again) had a request: his birthday fundraiser be equally divided between Lurie Children’s Hospital and the Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation. But there’s also a little extra, a special 14th birthday nod to his friend Robbie Gould’s new partnership with Cal’s Angels. In honor of Chase, we will also be raising a separate $500 going to Cal’s Angels in order to help grant a wish for another child like Chase.

We can’t think of a more fitting plan! Lurie has gifted Chase life more times than we can count, the Rizzo Foundation has instilled more hope, and Cal’s has brought more joy – Life, Hope, and Joy – all together.

Would you consider donating here? You can give $14 for Chase’s 14 years (or a multiple of 14…or more!).

The Lurie/Rizzo link is together right here.

The Cal’s Angels’ wish link is right here.

Every dollar counts, and this year, it feels like it counts double…no, triple! …as the dollars will go to help a child like Chase and a family like ours – often in their most stressful, heartbreaking moments – in the home with Cal’s, in the hospital with Lurie, and around the country with The Rizzo Foundation.

With your help, we can contribute to research, resources, and encouragement for so many children like Chase.

Thank you!

The Letter

Every year, in the middle of August when the school doors open wide, my dad stops extra and special to pray for my kids and he slips them a verse to hold close for the whole year ahead. This verse is always printed on colorful paper, laminated and trimmed so carefully by his own hand, and most importantly, is something he has thought and prayed through – often for months before the moment. He waits in stillness, asking the Lord what word is needed for all of his grandchildren as they head back into their classrooms for another year. And then, with verses in hand, he challenges them to hold the God words close in their desk, backpack, locker, or binder, so that whenever they see the colorful paper, they will remember that they are known and loved.

And every year, it’s something of a tradition for him to show up on the first morning of the first day and share breakfast with the kids, laughing and energizing them, and then talking through the verse and praying over them before they leave the house and the early morning sunshine around the breakfast table. But this year, his words came differently. They came, most purposefully, in the form of a letter, and I felt the printed words not just for my children, but for my own heart too.

So, with his permission, I am sharing the printed letter words with you here – this is Chase’s copy: because Chase, but also because this letter, this verse, even the quote (only my dad – #girldadgoals – could mix the Bible and a Hallmark holiday movie together so well) speaks into the often broken-hearted, burned-out feeling of being other, of having nothing of value to offer, and even of hard life things that just don’t relent.

The letter is shared in its entirety below, and I hope it leaves you as it did me: knowing that we are each unique and purposeful, meant for good things by the One who loves us so. Now, here’s my dad to Chase…

Dear Chase,

This year, I’m sending you your school verses in a letter.

Why? Because you are a letter. Have you ever thought of yourself as a letter? You are. You’re a living letter, a living epistle, sent out to all you meet; at school, at home, at church, in your community, etc.

The goodness, kindness, wisdom, and love written on your heart is being shared with everyone the Lord brings across your path. In that sense, you are His letter sent out to put Him on display, and make the world a better place.

To remind you of your unique one-of-a-kind mission, place these laminated verses somewhere so you can see them often and be reminded of how special you are to God, and to others (like Mimi and Bapa).

In this school year you will definitely grow physically. You will also grow in your knowledge of history, math, science, English, etc… The most important area of growth this school year, in fact, in all of life, is your growth in godliness. And it is towards that goal that both Mimi and I pray for you.

The back and front of the laminated card reads…

“You are our letter, written in our hearts, known and read by all men; being manifested that you are a letter of Christ, cared for by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of human hearts.”

2 Corinthians 3:2-3

“…we are all, in some way, living letters, unique souls, slipped into fragile human envelopes stamped by our Creator and sent into the world with a story only we can share…”

Signed, Sealed, Delivered: The Vows We Have Made, Layton, Williamson, Hallmark, 2021

Moment by Moment.

Keeping It Interesting

This one… he likes to keep it interesting, doesn’t he? We spent yesterday morning talking with his endocrine team after some really wild labs.

 
Chase’s numbers are suddenly kind of crazy and it could be for a lot of different reasons, but the most important and immediate concern is getting his levels back under control – and quickly. 


You see, the longer his levels are all over the place, the more likely his thyroid-free body is to create a favorable environment for thyroid cancer re-growth – in his lymph nodes, especially. [spoiler alert: we *super* don’t want that]


So for now, the plan is to make immediate changes to the medications that are helping his body regulate things, and then we re-test everything in a few weeks.

 
As a parent who walked into this childhood cancer world under the auspices of a brain tumor diagnosis, waiting to re-test is a terrifying prospect because brain tumors often grow incredibly quickly and hours to days can make a huge difference in the end result. But… as Chase’s [very patient] endocrine team has had to remind me many times over the last four years: thyroid cancer is a different cancer with its own unique schedule of growth – in that way, at least, it is a far more gentle cancer. 


So we sit for these weeks until the re-test and trust Chase’s weary body and his levels to the One who knows him best.

Moment by moment.

As It Should Be

The dark of the room matched the black of the ultrasound screen as I watched white lines flutter and join, flutter and join, the movement changing every time the tech changed the position of the probe on my boy’s small chest. Slowly, I looked down at his hand, held tightly in mine, processing the questions from the team: “Has he fainted? Have his lips turned blue? Does he complain of pain in his chest?”

Before we started the day, Chase told me he wasn’t worried, but in the moment, he wouldn’t let go of my hand, he refused to eat dinner the night before, and as I woke him from a sound sleep, he wouldn’t stop repeating: “You need to reschedule this appointment”. Fear has so many facets to it, right, dear ones?

The tests were finally completed and the consultation too, and when it was all over, we learned that Chase’s heart was as strong as it could possibly be. In fact, his rhythms neared normal – one of the very few times in Chase’s life that normal has been applied to him. 

In the small generic exam room, I sat in the chair across from the cardiologist and accepted her words. I was relieved, but I felt static too… a sort of nothingness. And as I looked at Chase, seated on the edge of the exam table, he wore a deeply tired expression even though he’d just been informed that the doctors were pleased with his stability. 

Later, in the car with Chase asleep over his arm rest, I replayed that moment in the room – the total lack of joy at seemingly good news.

Are we burned out on grace? Are we so weary that good things have ceased to feel like a gift? Is this what happens after over a decade in the fight?

Perhaps, and yet, dear ones, I don’t think it’s that simple. You see, yes, Chase’s heart tests were stable. In fact, he will receive a much-needed cardiology break as he will go several months before he needs to be rechecked – which is everything we could hope for! But after that piece of news came the reminder words: The good news we received can’t be ensured for any length of time because they just don’t know what comes next for Chase.

So despite the flutter and join on the ultrasound; despite the blood going where blood goes in the timing needed to reach the whole body… well, Chase’s heart is at risk now and always because, as the team reminded us: Chase himself is high risk. 

Stable, but don’t forget: high risk; no future stability guaranteed. 

Sitting with those words and their reality and various possibilities feels like watching a beautiful sunny sky to the east even as you feel a dark storm rolling up behind you from the west. You know what I’m talking about, friends? It’s the kind of storm you feel on the skin of your back even as the sun is warm on your face. …and all you can do is wait for it to hit you.

So where do we go from here?

The reality is that we can’t sit with the high risk words at the front of our brains and hearts every day, or we’d never resurface. We would truly and completely burn out. But the heaviness is a very real component of every appointment and I believe it’s because we’re reminded of everything that we wish never happened…everything we wish never existed in our stories. What do I mean by that? Let me share this beautiful quote from author Emily A Jensen, because it’s perfect and she gets it just right:

“Even being at the doctor is a reminder that something isn’t ‘as it should be’ and that can feel like a heavy blanket on our hearts”. 

So for a moment, we just let the high risk reality sink in. As Jensen puts it so well, we sit with the ‘heavy blanket on our hearts‘. We let ourselves feel the grief of the ‘isn’t as it should be’, because, dear ones, I truly believe mourning is an integral part of the life process.

We were not created for this brokenness.

And some days, the overall brokenness feels bigger than the good test results. So we weep. And that’s okay – in fact, I believe it’s downright good for the soul. But after the tears, we looked up again, and we remind ourselves that every day is a purposeful gift, and also that nobody has guaranteed stability stamped over their future on this earth. Stability was never promised. And that’s okay because better things await us.

Remember that the end of the story will be good, so if there are tears in your eyes…tears in my eyes… if we feel the weight of the brokenness and wish it wasn’t so… well, then we must not be at the final chapter just yet, dear ones. 

Pressing on… 

Moment by moment. 

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