He now has a slightly-longer-than-peppery coating of dark brown hair --nothing like his long-gone strawberry blonde-- covering the top and sides of his head. The back, however, from just above his ears down, is still almost completely bald, save what I call his soul patch --a slightly larger than half-dollar sized spot of very thick, healthy-looking dark hair-- just north of center back. The image-conscious part of me is upset, worried that despite the assurances from everyone from his oncologist to the radiation oncologist that it would grow back, that maybe it won't. Maybe the intensity of the radiation was simply too much for his hair follicles to withstand.
When I feel myself beginning to get upset, I snap back to reality and think 'who cares? At least he's alive!' But then I revert to my previous mindset, bitter that we're even in the position of being this brand of grateful for life; bitter that our innocence is gone. Bitter that his scar will show prominently if the hair doesn't grow back. Worried about how others in public, those who aren't privy to the horrifying details of his suffering, will judge him for looking different. I know I shouldn't care. But like I said, I can't help it. I'm the mommy. And I don't want anyone to hurt him.
I guess I've felt worn down of late. Acutely aware of the blessing that we have in all of our children, but oh, I don't know. Victimized is likely the best word. I feel like we've been raked over the coals for the past year, and although things are good for now, it's hard to just forget the hell that we lived that hardly anyone else will have to experience firsthand. It's hard to just let that go. It's not hard to learn from it; it's just hard to accept it as part of our reality, as part of our history.
I also have a silly confession to make. I say it knowing full well that it'll cause me embarrassment, but hoping that it will apply to some of you in a real, tangible way in one area of your lives or another. I hear new cancer stories every few days now; it seems that I've become something of a clearing house for bad news. Every time I hear another one, my heart surges, grieves, rebels. I hate cancer. I don't use that word lightly, but I truly do despise it. And then when I start to pray for the affected person --more often than not these days, a child not unlike Logan-- a tiny voice says 'but if you use up your prayers for this child, they'll drown out your prayers for Logan.' I fell for it for a while; treated those other stories as competition for God's attention. But then reality came to me in the form of a song they sing at our preschool:
Our God is so BIG, so strong and so mighty. There's NOTHING my God cannot do.
It's a kiddie song, but the message is powerful. God can handle anything. We cannot over-pray. It's not a competition. A victory for one is a victory for all.
Anyway, I suppose that's a pretty obvious, black and white kind of observation, but it's what was on my heart today.
I thank you for your prayers. I can scarcely believe it's been nearly a year since this all started. I ask, beg for your continued prayers, for the addition of more people to Logan's team. I don't keep analytics on this site, but it's my fervent hope that more people read it than the comments suggest. Logan deserves the attention. He deserves a chance to have a bold, real impact on people in this world as a cancer SURVIVOR.
Blessings and have a great weekend.