Last night was incredibly hard.
The pain Will experienced over the weekend, the fear that followed, and the weight of the unknown left Jason and me completely on edge. Add to that another earache for Charlie, exhaustion beyond exhaustion, and emotions with nowhere left to go — everything boiled over. Words were said. Fear spoke louder than faith for a moment. The word “death” was uttered, treated briefly as an expectation rather than the enemy it is. We were all crying, all raw. Watching your child suffer while feeling powerless is agonizing in ways I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Eventually, we recognized what had taken hold: fear had led the way. We paused, talked calmly, and prayed for a reset — for God to reclaim the space fear had stolen. Apologies were exchanged. Hugs were shared. Tears kept coming.
After things settled, Will went upstairs to shower. Moments later, he called us. I knew something wasn’t right. He told us he had coughed up blood. My heart sank. Every symptom feels like an emergency when you live with cancer. I ran downstairs to call oncology while gathering things for a potential ER visit.
Jason soon came down with reassurance: the blood appeared to come from congestion — Will had inhaled through his nose and coughed it back up. More blood appeared when he blew his nose in the shower, supporting this explanation. Relief came, though peace was slower to follow.
By this morning, a CT scan of Will’s chest showed no significant changes and no concern for bleeding.
I am grateful. I am exhausted. And I am reminded how thin the line is between fear and faith when you live this life. Last night tested us — but we did not break. Yesterday tested us — but today is a new beginning.
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” — Psalm 118:24
Today, we step forward asking God to guard our minds, steady our hearts, and carry us onward.
