On Loan

As we pulled into the parking garage at Primary Children’s Hospital Thursday morning, Jace said, “Park where we always do, dad!” The once raw and cruel reality of being at this hospital has been replaced by habit, and Jace practically sprinted in to see his doctor on the 4th floor. Matt and I *think* today was the first day we didn’t have to carry Jace in. It was amazing to watch him notice the new things on the hospital grounds and act like he owned the place. Although I’m so GRATEFUL I could follow Jace in with a smile, I could not ignore the very tender spirit in the air as I thought about the recent happenings at this hospital. If you live in Rexburg you know that I’m talking about Preslee, and if you don’t, you can check this blog for the whole story. http://patrickandashley.blogspot.com I won’t try to explain.
I will say that as usual I don’t really understand much about life. As I struggle to understand why Jace has to endure the trial of cancer… and why other children are taken from this earth so quickly…I recognize that I have NOT yet mastered the internal battle of questioning that goes on in my mind. With this very real struggle alive and well, I attended an excellent meeting Sunday that helped my perspective. Not only did I feel the Spirit so strongly in all of the messages, I also appreciated a closing remark by President Parkinson, a recent organ transplant recipient. He softly explained that he doesn’t know why he, as a 51 year old adult, would remain on the earth, and a baby so perfect as Preslee would be taken…and he reminded us that really everything is dependent on the Lord’s will. This idea took me back to a quote on Pat and Ashley's blog:

Elder Neal A. Maxwell rightly said: “The submission of one’s will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God’s altar. The many other things we ‘give’ … are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us.” This is an especially powerful thought to me, since Elder Maxwell died from an eight year battle with Leukemia.

Sometimes when I look at my boys I remember what an amazing gift it is to be a mother and have children loaned to me- because they are so good and so beautiful (sorry boys- I know that’s not a manly word)! I know through their divine qualities they can ONLY come from a perfect God- and that HE is allowing me to raise them on this earth- (or they might be raising me…). They are mine, on loan, and it is my responsibility to do everything I can to get them back to him. I am so thankful for the knowledge I have of eternal life.

(Hayden and Jace Walking in the Hospital)

So, one more visit to the hospital is behind us, with Jace enduring chemo like a champ. Right after we left PCMC we followed Hayden to a baseball tournament in Heber City. Jace was fine the first night, but Friday morning he started sinking, and by Friday afternoon he had to be held and carried. Friday night in the hotel bed he begged for us to be by him.  We took turns:  first I caressed his arms and neck- then Hayden cuddled up to him.  Finally Matt took over and helped him fall asleep. 

Today I am grateful for ALL of the people “on loan” in my life, and I pray that I will someday be able to fully submit my WILL to the Lord with complete understanding and acceptance.  Ten and 1/2 months of chemo down.  Two years and 1 1/2 months to go. We can do it!

Reflections

While walking for the Relay for Life at 1 & 2 AM and then still at 3 AM…and 4, my tired brain tried to process why it was that I had allowed this handful of devoted friends and family members to miss their entire night’s sleep to walk around a track. It seemed a silly thing to be doing, when really there was no consequence for our team if we just quit walking. There was no patrol or judge standing on the edge saying, “Do you still have someone walking?” or “How many laps have you made?” But there we were- making sure someone was always representing Jace.

I didn’t have any answers then, probably because I was too tired to make sense of it, but I’ve continued processing it for the last nine days, and looking back I’m very tender about some of the revelations that have filled my heart.

The whole Relay was purposely symbolic, starting at sundown. During the opening comments they compared the start time to when someone is newly diagnosed with cancer. They said, it is a time when the sun sets and darkness comes. I’ll attest that driving to Primary Children’s Hospital for the first time last fall certainly felt like a dark time in my life- and one where I didn’t know if we’d make it through the night. But the journey continued, and through the very dark hours we kept walking. Lots of family and many friends attended us on our way, and took over at the ideal minutes- just like in Jace’s fight. As if by cue, the right people have come into his life and taken their turns strengthening him and helping him on his way.

At 10 PM there was a silent lap in honor of the people who have died from cancer. The track was full, and the night sky was flashing lightening. Thunder boomed all around us, and my senses were fully aware of the electricity in the air. Just as soon as we finished the silent lap, the rain started pouring. Many members of our team were still there and hovered under our little canopy. At one point I looked at the people in the corners holding the thing down. I knew it was dangerous for those cornerstone people to be holding the metal frame of the canopy, but I also knew there was no way I was going to talk anyone into going to the car. It reminded me of receiving help during this whole trial. It is so difficult to just allow it to happen! Maybe the most humbling experience of the night was when I looked into the eyes of the people still there and told them they should go. It was pouring rain! It was late!...but consistently as I scanned their eyes they firmly resounded, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

(Hayden, Kyle, Kyler, & sleeping Jace)

So, our team walked all night. We walked, and we talked, and we honored Jace with every lap. Not because we had to, but because it was our privilege to represent something greater than simply walking a few laps. We walked because we knew it was our way of saying CANCER WON’T BEAT US. It WON’T break our family, and it WON’T silence the courage we see every time we look at our 7 year old, spunky, determined Jace.

(Matt taking Jace home at midnight)

(Dylan, Dayton, & Jace @ the 4th of July parade)

(Jace & Hayden fishing with Dad)

(Finally riding horses again: Jace and Hayden with Red)

On a side note, Jace's CBC this week was fine. His numbers rose enough to eliminate concern, and Jace enjoyed a perfect, normal, 4th of July weekend. His hair is so cute. It is coming in quickly now, and I’ve been calling him a furry little monkey. The color is slightly different than it ever has been, being a little more blonde with a little more body. Although I think I’ll have a hard time cutting his hair (ever again!), I did trim his sideburns and the hair on his neck. His silky smooth legs of days past have been replaced by thick blonde hair, and his dark eyelashes and eyebrows have brought back the Jace we used to see. We do not have to return to the doctor until July 22nd, and then we will be traveling to Primary Children’s Hospital. After that we will have to start figuring out how to deal with chemo and school! We are both planning on returning to our former life of school, so wish us luck with the whole- ‘getting Jace out of bed before 10 AM’ thing.

Last night as I sat under the stars with my favorite people and watched fireworks explode above our heads, I reflected on the events of the last ten months. Watching Jace run around the yard with his cousins has a whole new meaning this year. I’m so grateful for every minute I have with the people I love, and I never want to become callus to that again. Thank you all for your influence in our lives. Ten months of chemo down. Two years and two months to go. We can do it.:)