When his nurse this evening noticed that his chemo port dressing was loose, she decided it was time for a change, and there's little that Logan likes less than a dressing change. I held his hands and repeatedly asked him to look at me; he cried for daddy. When I finally managed to capture his gaze for longer than 3 seconds, I mentioned that his birthday is next month. (It's July 31st.) I asked him if he knew how old he'd be, and he said 5. Then I asked him what was special about being 5. After just a brief pause, he gained a sudden little burst of energy and replied, sincerity and excitement in his eyes,
You get to go to kindergarten when you're 5.
Right then and there, I caught my breath and felt my heart shatter into a million pieces: He's not going to kindergarten this Fall. And I realized that we'd have to tell him that truth at some point. It burned to realize that I'd have to disappoint him yet again, because you know, he hasn't already been through enough pain and disappointment.
It never occurred to me that kindergarten was even on his radar screen. I figured that school would be one of the last things on his mind, but no, he wants to make friends and have a routine and learn. And I can't give him that yet. It's so unfair. It's all just so horribly unfair. I know I say that a lot, but it's a foundational truth that I simply can't escape. There's nothing that will ever make this experience fair, and I suspect that on one level or another, I'll struggle with that truth indefinitely. But it is what it is.
Anyway, I don't have much else to write at the moment. I'm tired and largely uninspired, and have felt myself sink to a low place in recent days.