Of Hard Moments And Incredible Gifts

Early tomorrow morning, Chase will step into a room, accept needles, give blood and drop into unconsciousness for a two hour MRI, kicking off a month of appointments and exams.

Everything is coded as routine, and so it is, for there’s no emergency, and yet it’s anything but routine for my sweet boy.

We live the strange survivor conundrum that is this: the older he gets, the more physically easy a test may become, but the greater the toll to his emotions.

He is so nervous and got to the point last night that he told me that it wasn’t just about the needle, but that he wished there had never been a seizure or cancer or any of it – he wished that he could take it all back and make it different – and then we both cried because his words are in my heart all the time.

And yet, we find incredible joy in the journey too. So as I thought through what I wanted to share with you this MRI Eve, I thought of this little video.

You guys, THIS.

Chase was given an iPad six years ago when he began treatment and it finally, irrevocably died this past Fall.
While we have never wanted for anything, there is no extra money to go buying new iPads on the regular, and I found myself crazily mourning the loss of a screen with so many appointments upcoming – not to mention, it helps Chase to stay focused on the drives to the hospital so that he doesn’t start vomiting (a neuro/mental holdover from chemo days – he sees the Chicago skyline when we go to the hospital and starts to vomit).

And then, there was a text from a friend with the words “It’s all taken care of…”

And then there was an Amazon box on the front step.

And then there was this video, in which my darling boy with all his challenges felt the right emotion in the right moment – a thing I have hardly ever seen and my gift in witnessing it was greater even than what lay in the box for Chase.

And it knocked me over.

So THIS.

On the eve of the MRI, be a part of our joy and thankfulness.

And if you picture Chase tomorrow morning, know he’ll have a beautiful, fresh screen to help. And then say a prayer for his bravery to hold in the moment by moment of this cancer life.

Everlasting gratitude and love to the Anthony Rizzo Family Foundation​ to taking a cancer diagnosis and turning it into a blessing for so many. Thank you for seeing our children for who they are and what they can do and then never resting until their quality of life is the best it can possibly be.