As this day was fast approaching, I found myself feeling the startled amazement of the miraculous…Joshua has lived to turn 10 years old! And I stifled the urge to pinch myself! This was followed quickly with my eyes tearing up, which I’d blink back as I smiled wider.
Eternally grateful, I still have difficulty writing and saying the words, “Praise God for the miracle of Josh!” What does it mean for the other children who have relapsed or who have died? Do we praise Him when a little one breathes his last breath? Perhaps, only in the sense that their physical suffering has ended and with the belief they are in the Heavenly Father’s arms. There is no other meaning than if God heals one He allows the physical death of the other. In my mind I can’t seem to put the two together. My only concrete knowledge is we each have our own unique journeys in this life.
I know others who haven’t received their miracle. I grieve over Lesly who didn’t make it to her 10th birthday and all the other childhood cancer children who didn’t see their next birthday, whatever that number might have been. Internally, I SHOUT my gratitude with total joy and love to my God and I know He clearly hears me, but my mouth will not allow it to escape. I try, but somehow it feels cruel.
I am so humbled by Josh’s life. I feel unworthy, knowing I am no better than any other loving mother out there who desperately wants nothing more than to share her life with her child, holding him, correcting him, watching him grow to adulthood. I cherish this privilege other mother’s have had ripped from them.
So I get frustrated with Josh when he doesn’t mind me. I nag him about his chores and homework. I teach him how to handle his anger. I encourage him not to antagonize his sisters. I remind him to take his medicine and to eat healthier. I sign him up for the Childhood Cancer Survivor’s Program. I drive him to his activities. I invite his friends over. I correct him when he talks back. I take him to his many doctors’ appointments. And I hug him as my heart melts at his smile.
I rejoice completely and totally for my son’s life quietly thanking my Savior. I grieve completely and totally for the families of the children who are still fighting or who are gone.
He’s 10 today…