June 2

Today was a long one for me. I spent a little more than eight hours at CHO with both Logan and Brady. The latter refused to nap save a 20-minute stretch that gave me little respite, while the former was mostly tired and weak, content to lie in bed and watch TV all day long. The lack of downtime left me exhausted by the time Adam's dad arrived to take over at a little after 6, and the strain of watching my sunshine struggle to do the simplest tasks was painful. It's utterly draining to watch Logan suffer, to watch his little hands quiver while playing Memory and his bird-like legs quake as he stands to relieve himself.

I've spent plenty of time in recent days quite literally yelling at God over it all; over the horror that is cancer, over my frustrations, over my fears, over the excruciating pain of watching someone as precious and innocent as my son suffer through something so completely and egregiously un-Godlike. I have moments when it feels as if every bit of rage, every ounce of frustration every felt by anyone in this world are balled up inside my head and around my heart, threatening to blow at any moment. The unjustness of it all is simply too much to bear. But when I finish screaming and shouting and yes, spewing profanities, once I get it out, I feel better. Like I can once again handle tomorrow and all of the uncertainty that it'll undoubtedly bring. So that's what I do: In those private moments, I scream and yell and cry and get it out, because it's all I can do.

Thank you for continuing to pray for Logan's healing and our family's well-being. You are a blessing to us.