We had a pretty nice day: Our annual pilgrimage to Half Moon Bay to Pastorino's Pumpkin Farm, then on to San Francisco to watch the Blue Angels fly from Adam's dad's office. There was an acceptable amount of fussing and complaining throughout the day, mostly from Logan. We expect it, given the heavy dose of Decadron coupled with his age.
We wound up at Sweet Tomatoes, per Logan's request, at dinner time. It was something of a stressful meal to start with; tons of people in line, lots of impatience. But eventually we settled in and ate.
Once we'd finished, Logan insisted that he was too tired to carry his cup, so Adam said fine, just leave it behind, and headed for the exit with Isaac and Brady in tow. Logan relented and picked up his own cup, crying as he left. As the guy and boy at the table behind us watched him go, they smiled. Stifled laughter, really. I could see them scrutinizing his puffy cheeks and his tearful eyes. And I got angry. I stopped just long enough to tell them that he's a cancer survivor and that they should hold their laughter until they'd walked a mile in his shoes.
They didn't really care. The boy looked shocked that I'd noticed or said anything. The dad? He blew me off by offering up a snide 'okay' and avoiding eye contact.
After I'd stormed out, the sadness set in. And my heart broke for my son for the thousandth time.
I can't impress upon you all the importance of avoiding that kind of judgment of others. You never know what someone else has been through. In that moment, I wanted SO badly to put the kid into Logan's body for just a day to show them how incredibly hard his life is; how hard it is to just be some days. But that can't happen. So I have to get over it, just like I had to do the other 999 times similar things have happened.