1. A Gray Morning and the Struggle to Find the Sun
Some days begin with the weight of a thousand pounds pressing against your chest. This morning, I woke up with an ocean of sadness—the kind of grief you can’t quite name, but it makes your legs feel like they might give out the moment you touch the floor. In the world of a mother whose child is fighting cancer, sadness is no stranger, but sometimes it arrives with an intensity that leaves you gasping for air.
Yet, I whispered to myself: Hold onto hope. I fought to find my own “sunshine,” even as the sky outside remained draped in heavy gray clouds. Little did I know that the light I was searching for wouldn’t come from the weather, but from the simplest, most profound moments of love.
2. The ER and the Choice of a Warrior
All of our plans for the day shattered in an instant. Will’s pain reached a threshold beyond his endurance, forcing Jason to rush him to the Emergency Room. Hours spent in a hospital are always the longest hours of one’s life. The humming of machines, the scent of antiseptic, and the thick tension of emergency medicine make the heart tighten.
After the examinations, the doctors found no new acute issues, but the pain remained—looming like a ghost that refused to leave. They gave Will two choices: he could be admitted to the hospital for high-dose, intravenous pain management under medical supervision, or he could go home and try to manage the pain there.
Anyone who knows Will understands how much he hates the hospital. For a child who has spent far too much time within sterile white walls, every square inch of home is more precious than gold. Will chose home. He chose to endure the agony on a familiar sofa rather than a well-equipped but lonely hospital bed. He is pushing himself past the limits of human endurance just to breathe the air of his own family.
3. The Question That Shatters a Mother’s Heart
On this journey filled with bad news, there are things more painful than lab results. It is the moment when my son begins to realize the devastation the disease is wreaking upon his own body.
My heart felt as if it were being crushed every time he pointed to a different spot on his body and asked, “Is this a spot too, Mom? Because I think I can feel pain here.”
How can I answer him without breaking down? How can I explain to a child that his body has become a battlefield? I can only cry out in silence: “God, please heal my baby boy!” It is the plea of a mother standing on the brink of helplessness, yet refusing to give up on a miracle.
4. God’s Presence and the Peace of Baptism
While Jason and Will were at the hospital, I was somewhere else—a space where I could clearly feel the presence of the Almighty. I attended a service where I watched Charlie be baptized.
In 그 moment, I felt a wave of peace wash over my soul. It was a reminder that even in the middle of a storm, life still blooms and sacred things are still happening. I began packing our things to head toward Birmingham to meet them, but then a call from Jason changed everything: they were already on their way home.
As it turned out, God had answered my prayer in a way I didn’t expect. He didn’t just give me peace of mind; He brought my son home much sooner than planned.
5. The Sofa and the Preciousness of Normalcy
Tonight, our home is no longer silent or somber. It is filled with the voices of family, friends, and the warmth of love. It is a small sliver of “normalcy” that we have craved amidst the chaos.
I asked Will if he wanted me to fix my bed for him so he could rest more comfortably, but he gave an answer that left me speechless: “No. I want to lay on the couch and be with everyone.”
That sentence is a testament to his strength. Will does not want to be isolated by his pain. He wants to belong, to be present in the embrace of those who love him. That sofa is no longer just a piece of furniture; it is a sanctuary, the place where Will finds the strength to fight the enemy living in his bones.
6. Faith Amidst the Unknown
Tomorrow, we will wait for word from the oncologist regarding the possibility of radiation. I do not know what God’s plan for our family is. I do not know how rocky the road ahead will be. But there is one thing I know for certain: I trust Him.
My faith is not based on things going my way, but on the truth that He is always there—in every breath, every pang of pain, and every one of Will’s smiles. I know without a shadow of a doubt that God is walking through this fire right beside us.
Thank You, God, for the way this day ended. It began in the darkness of fear but ended in the light of love and reunion.
Please, everyone, continue to pray for Will. Pray for him to have the strength to overcome the pain, and pray for us to remain steadfast. Because wherever there is love and faith, miracles always have a chance to grow.
