Easter Reflections

On a Sunday that is simultaneously Easter, the day that Jesus Christ arose from the grave and guaranteed salvation to those who believe in Him, and the day before Logan heads back to CHO to begin the final step in his treatment protocol, I have a lot of mixed feelings. The conflation of these dates is bittersweet; I know that because of what He did, regardless of the outcome of treatment, our family will be complete again, and not merely complete in the limited sense that we understand it, but complete for all eternity.

But I'm still human. I still want healing to come, and I want my son to grow up and to continue to shine his (and His) light in this dark, disturbed world.

Following the post-radiation MRI, I feel like we have reason to be hopeful about the treatment. After all, to go from significant disease in the spinal column to nothing visible at all so soon after his six weeks under the ray ended is, well, miraculous. At least, it is to me, given what we were told about how the MRI would 'likely' look, and how we were told that it probably wouldn't show much of a change because not enough time had passed for the tissue to melt away. But it did dissolve. It was eradicated. And our prayer, the biggest prayer we've ever uttered in our lives, is that it will continue to dissolve, to melt away, to be banished from Logan's sweet little body.

It's been a good day, but a trying one for me. I've alternated between laughter and abated tears; tears that come because I know today is the last day that we'll all be together for at least the next month. It's actually a 'last day' --for now-- for a lot of things that I hold close to my heart. It's the last day that Logan will feel good for quite some time; the last day that he and Abby will giggle and play together; the last day that he'll stand in front of the TV and sing the theme song to Phineas and Ferb; the last day I'll sleep on the floor of his room to make his nighttime restroom needs less obvious to the rest of the household. Yes, we pray that these things will happen again down the line, but it's painful to think of the upheaval that we know lurks in the near future, and the strain that it puts on our collective family life. It's hard to be apart. It's painful. It's unfair. It makes me feel bitter, angry. But I can't feel those things because I can't allow bad feelings, negative emotions to rule me. But it's hard. Very, very hard.

But despite my sadness over the end of this phase, I feel cautiously hopeful about the aforementioned conflation of dates. Just as Christ made Easter a new beginning for all of us, so I hope that tomorrow will be the start of a new beginning for Logan and for our emotionally battered family. I plan to pray every moment of every day, with every breath I take, that God will use the brutal treatment Logan is about to undergo to give us a brand new start. To give him a new life on earth, so to speak.

And I thank you for praying for the very same thing, because there is strength in numbers. Just as there is eternal hope in Christ, there is earthly hope in intercession and in communion. Blessings, and happy Easter. He is Risen!