Craziness.

Have you ever looked at your recent history and thought, "Wow. I'm playing a part in a really bad tear-jerker"?

I was just thinking about Facebook and how so many of my friends from long ago have had no contact with me up until the last year. The Year of Hell, as we like to refer to it here in our humble abode. Our nephew's death, losing Hazel, a Chris's beloved Grandfather's death, my Dad's illness, Noah's lymphoma--all of these things look like they add up to a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad year.

And you know what? They do. In a lot of ways they do.

But, when you think of us, please don't just think about Hazel or Noah's illness. There's so much more to us than these losses and worries.

We're happy, in an odd sort of way. Our faith is secure. (Although I am not Job; give me a break, please!) Our friends, neighbors and family have been incredibly supportive; our community has held our grief and worry as their own. We've been shown love in ways that are beyond humbling. Today an older neighbor lady brought us a few bags of groceries. Fresh fruit, some hamburger, potatoes--good things for us!

We laugh, too, and we enjoy the humor that surrounds us. If you need a laugh, Englewood is the place to be; I've never before been around such gifted story tellers! On a side note, as much as we've enjoyed humor the last few months, I've learned that my Kevin Smith switch has been turned off. Kind of a bummer, really, but that last movie? Ick. I was looking forward to it, too; The girl's name was Miriam! Maybe I just need to watch Mallrats, again.

Noah James

We found out last week that Noah, our youngest living child, has lymphoma. Cancer. We've spent the last week finding a doctor, getting him into the children's hospital here and now the hard work will begin.

Tomorrow Noah has surgery to do several things: remove one of the nodes for a biopsy (we need to name the lymphoma--we think it's Hodgkin's, which would be good, as it's the most curable form), put in a central line--this allows access like an IV would, but remains under his skin for easy access, check his bone marrow--this is to help stage the cancer.

The Oncologist said he would like to be able to start treatment next week, so we need to name it, stage it and figure out how to cure it.

My baby has cancer.

On top of the obvious worries is my concern for my older 2 kids. They are definitely feeling the tension (especially Miriam, she is very much a girl in this respect. Alex knows we're worried, but he's thrilled to get to sleep over at a friend's house, spend the afternoon with his teacher, etc). Right now, here at the beginning, there is some fun stuff--the aforementioned sleep overs, hanging out at friend's houses--but I know this will get old. And Noah is getting TONS of attention, which is helpful in some ways. But Noah is already getting "touched out". And Miriam and Alex need attention, too. They are worried, too.

Cancer sucks.