The family is back together at home. Thankfully there were no complications during the biopsy or recovery in the ICU. Now we must all reset once more and catch up on a lot of missed sleep!

We did come home with something new: a PICC. It's a catheter with an external port for injection of IV based medicine. The primary need is for his upcoming photon therapy, but it can also be used for his weekly blood draws. It's so hard to be excited about something like this. But we are. The alternative is a new needle every single time they need to sedate or pull blood. No thanks. Small victories, remember?

This whole experience has us realizing just how different life really is now. A few weeks ago the regular choices in our lives were what to make for dinner, what clothes to put on, which movie to snuggle up to. Now none of those things matter much at all. Dinner? Food. Clothes? Yes. Movie? We would rather sleep. But it goes even further than that. Every day we make hundreds if not thousands of little micro-choices. All of those are numb and insignificant; their outcomes are neither followed nor sought after. I'm not sure if it's a higher awareness to the world and our place in it or if I'm in the middle of a stroke, but it is so freeing. And that's a good thing. But no good can come from this, can it? We can't possibly allow ourselves to believe that we are changing in positive ways from such a thing, can we? Certainly we would just give it all back. Make me Mark from January 16, and you can keep your cancer, thanks. I'll just read some self-help and meditate in a garden and we call it even.

This isn't the first tragedy Jennifer and I have experienced together. I guess tragedy is a relative term. In 2007 we lost everything aside from our lives to the wildfires that swept through San Diego. A great many of you probably can remember. And we still remember how you picked us up. You gave us love and told us it was all just stuff. All true. But it sucked. And we cried. And we said why us? But then as time went on, it faded a little bit more and more. And we turned it into something positive and good with the purchase of our first home. And then we started a family to fill the rooms. And life was so good, so perfect. Every single thing existed as if orchestrated from the most beautiful source of love in the world, delivered straight to the two of us. 

Jennifer sent me a single random text on January 15, 1:32pm, "I love our family". Three-and-a-half hours later, all of this started. But this time I don't want anything to slip away. I don't want time to go by and for things to get easier. I don't want distance or closure. I just want my son to be healthy and to know that he has a future with crazy adventures that make lifelong friends. I want him to wake me up 11 years from now in the middle of the night and tell me he accidentally drove my Jeep into a fence. I would get so pissed, but I would ask if he was ok and we would laugh about it all. I want my daughter to have a big brother. The kind that is gentle but would morph into a lion nobody knew existed when she needed his help. They would have a secret life we didn't know about. Things only siblings know. And they would grow old and reminisce about us, the good and the bad. They would share their memories...the ones that were slowly fading.

#HopeForParker #FCANCER

September 16, 2010 Holding my first child and only son, Parker.