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I started this blog {eeek almost 4 years ago!} as a way to document my new journey as a mama; all the pregnancy adventures, the good, bad & crazy hormonal moments, and then finally the birth and journey of our precious boy.

As time has passed, the blog has become a little less scrapbook and a little more journal.  I occasionally vacillate over sharing something, but usually do anyway, because for me, writing is cathartic.

In that vein of thought, I’d like to share a bit of news that has recently uprooted our little world; my dad has cancer.

He had surgery on Tuesday of this week and is recovering at home.  We are still in the early stages of diagnosis, so there isn’t a lot of information to share.  It’s treatable, although we don’t know exactly what treatment plan we’ll take. We’re being positive, as positive as you can be when you’re completely blindsided by something like this.  And I’m a little bit of a mess, as you can imagine.

In typical me fashion, I’d like to pat myself on the back for being so together when I went home for my dad’s surgery.  I was strong, brave, and totally a daughter rock star.  My parents were seriously impressed.

I wish I could be like that all the time, but my shell has kind of cracked over the past two days.  I have not been the most shining example of a wife this week.  I’m exhausted and frustrated and sad and all sorts of other things rolled into one girl.  I want to stand on my rooftop and shout that this isn’t fair, that my dad doesn’t deserve this, that there are lots of really awful people in the world walking around as healthy as horses whom deserve this a lot more.  And I know that isn’t very mature, or kind, of Christian of me.  But, well, it’s how I feel.

My saving grace this week has been a little pint sized three year old.  I raced back to Opelika Wednesday morning to scoop him up before his nap.  He burst into tears when he saw me, and I did the same.  We really missed each other.  I’ve spent a lot of the past few nights snuggling, and holding, and receiving lots of extra kisses.  Something about the routine and normalcy of picking him up, arguing over the fruit snacks he insists on eating immediately upon entering the door, fixing him dinner and tucking him into bed are comforting.  We told him as much as we thought he could understand—that Buck had surgery because he wasn’t feeling well so now he has to rest.  No back rides or football games for a little while.  Reese is fine with that explanation, which means there is no more needed.

This is a journey that no one ever wants to travel, this I realize.  I lost my both paternal grandparents to cancer at a very young age, so the reality of what cancer does to individuals & families is not lost on me.  The type of cancer my dad has been diagnosed with has around a 90% survival rate and that is a statistic we are going to cling to.

Lofton, Reese & I are going to head back to Pensacola tomorrow so that he can share his sweet love with my parents, too.  We could all use a pint-sized diversion.