Sept. 27, 2016 (Scott)

We started this wild journey mid winter 2016 and now have transitioned into the fall. 228 days have passed since diagnosis, and so much has changed. Looking back, the beginning feels like a bad dream, a sea of insurmountable obstacles–moments of fear and anger, long stretches of worry, wakeful nights, all sliding by like the horizon on a too-long road trip. Stuck in the backseat, it feels like you’re not moving at all, like you’ll never make it home. You doze off, wake up, and the landscape looks different; but there you are, still in the car, still riding along, still not home yet.

Home for me has always meant family–healthy and free of restrictions like treatments and isolation. We drove away from our house that Friday afternoon in February; we headed toward Oakland in order to get back home. It was the only route we could take, the simplest of choices–just go, handle everything that comes at you, fight with everything you have, and never never give up.

I have given thanks everyday for the hope that surrounds us. From family and friends, from our medical team and our community. I have given thanks for Maya’s unwavering courage–though she be but small, she is fierce. But this evening, I want to give thanks to the very foundation of my strength and the core and soul of our little family–to Sara, my treasured wife and ferocious momma bear to my children.

Sara and I face our challenges together every day–whether solving dinner with hangry kids at our feet or removing a three-quarter inch needle from our daughter’s chest after a home chemo project. The reason I’m able to push ahead no matter the test is because of Sara. I know without doubt she will never back down–it isn’t in her DNA. Of course, she will say my calm demeanor helps her to keep moving and to do what needs to be done. I may be calm, but the truth is I have a stupid-good poker face too, and it’s the faith in my team that grants me the semblance of composure–the faith I have in my partner, my muse, my love, my Wife.

Sara, you sustain my faith. You give me the strength to never waiver on this strange journey. Despite leukemia and chemo and steroids and worry, we have grown, our kids have grown, our family has grown. My hope is stronger than ever by your steadiness and power. Together we’ll get our little family back home safe.
I love you.