I saw somewhere online this week that if you can tell your story without crying, you have healed. My feelings are mixed about this thought. I’ll try to explain.
Ten years ago today, we carried our six-year-old Jace into Primary Children’s Hospital, not knowing if he would live through the night... And even though I think we feel ‘mostly’ healed from our Leatham family experience with Leukemia and years of chemotherapy, I still cry when I try to tell that story:
The story of a ten-year-old boy carrying his bald brother on his back..
The story of baseball saving both their lives..
The story of our family being loved and supported by so many people.
And the story about Jace, where he grows to be 16—and he’s healthy and strong and funny and smart and talented and tall and athletic and So. Dang. Cute.
After ten years, the tears have finally turned to grateful.
Once in awhile, cancer memories honestly knock me off my feet... but for the most part my tears come when I remember the goodness of people: family and friends who loved us through a really tough time.
Thank you for continuing to ask about Jace. He’s doing great.
Love you all.
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