Did you know that if you listen carefully, the naked human ear can actually hear the sound of blood pumping through another person’s heart?
Ka-thump, thump, swishhh. Ka-thump, thump, swishhh.
Ka-thump, thump, swishhh. The sound was calming, like the waves washing gently
ashore on a secluded beach or the quiet rustling of willow leaves as they moved
in the wind.
I was lying sprawled on our bed with my ear pressed against
Hazel’s tiny bare chest, my earlobe making a soundproof seal against her impossibly
soft, white skin. Waves of tiny cells, the same kinds of which only months
earlier threatened to snuff out her life, coursed through her veins. I
looked down the length of her body, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her
belly as she breathed in long and deep, sleeping the exhaustive sleep of
summer. It’s a sleep that was brought on by campfires, firefly chasing, pool
playing, parties, ice cream, bike riding, s’mores, and laughter. So much laughter.
It was still early, but the sun was beginning to shine
through our bedroom window. As I looked along the length of Hazel’s legs, bright
orange rays were poking through the spaces between her small toes, lighting up
her feet like sunbursts. I took a deep breath and could smell her – she smelled
so good. She smelled like LIFE. I picked up hints of soap and lavender from her
bath, sunscreen and water from the pool, chocolate from the small smudge of
dried syrup next to her lip, and a light wafting of the grass and leaves she
had run through the night before.
She wriggled a bit under the weight of my head and softly
giggled in her sleep, dreaming the contented dreams of a child, a far cry from
the nightmares of the past couple years. I smiled as I quietly lifted myself
off of the bed and snuck to the door. I turned one last time to stare back at
the perfect frame of my daughter, buried in the sea of our thick comforter and
surrounded by piles of pillows. It looked like she was sleeping on a cloud, and
in her dream I am sure she was – surrounded by siblings, cousins, friends, and
family as she floated along in what must now seem like a surreal happiness.
There was a time when I was not sure I would ever have
mornings like that one again. A darkness of such stifling proportion had
descended on our house that my family could not look beyond the next hours let
alone to the following week, month, or year. But at the sharp, single clang of
a golden bell in the middle of The Magic Forest, that all changed...symbolically
anyway. Hazel rang her bell two weeks ago and our life has been a whirlwind of
goodness since then.
We have celebrated, traveled, camped, loved, laughed, and
cried. It has been a perfect storm of emotions as we finally took the time to
reflect back on what we have all walked through together. I am sorry to say that in the nearly three
years this journey has taken, my children have all grown up – my sons are
turning into young men, my middle daughter is eight going on 16, and Hazel is
no longer that innocent baby that bravely walked through the sliding doors of
the NCH ER in April of 2017. We are probably all worse for the wear – in fact I
know we are – but we continue to heal, slowly, quietly, and in our own ways.
Hazel acts like she is making up for lost time. She works so
hard at enjoying life from the minute her eyes open in the morning until she
finally collapses in an exhausted heap at night. She constantly wants to do
something – swim, play, camp, sleepover, eat, shop. You name it, she is in. She
doesn’t nap and never slows down, as if she realizes this is her time
now. It is the time to make the most of what she has. Her cheeks are
sun-kissed, freckles exploding out in every direction from her cute,
button-nose. Her once pasty-white skin is now a deep-set tan that sets off her
sparkling blue eyes like tiny mountain lakes. She smiles incessantly,
scrunching her tiny nose and squinting so hard that her eyes disappear. Her
cacophonous laugh can be heard throughout the house all day long, typically in
unison with her brothers’ and sister’s high-pitched squeals of glee.
Make no mistake, I have seen true evil. I have felt the dark
waters of the lake of despair lapping at my feet day in and day out for nearly
three years. I have witnessed things done to my child that will forever be
etched in my memory – every poke, prod, and incision playing over and over in
painstaking detail through my mind’s eye. I have done things that a father
should never do to his child. I have held her as she screamed for mercy. I have
looked into her terrified eyes and lied by telling her it was all going to be alright.
I have inserted needles into her arm with my own hand, betraying her trust and
threatening a relationship that will take the rest of my life to repair.
My perception of what a good father is has been destroyed
during this process. I don’t even know what “good” means anymore, because when
we were in the midst of it, there was no choice between good and evil. There
was only one choice; do this, or lose her. I chose her every time and if I had
to, would do it all over again.
Our walk through this life is short and only allows so many
opportunities to make a mark on a world that will continue spinning long after
we are gone. Extreme heartache can be the refining fire that focuses our energy
into the laser beam of intensity needed to affect change. I would never have
wished this experience on our family, but it has made me better. I am a better man, better husband, better friend, and a
better father because of it. I am more empathetic, more compassionate, and more
understanding because of what I have seen over the past three years. I have
witnessed God in people, felt a kinship with complete strangers, and watched
the splendor of the human race come into crisp focus.
Cancer is ugly, it is hard, and its effects never leave your
life completely. I wish cancer didn’t exist and that all those that are
suffering in obscurity – heroes disguised as mere mortals – could experience
the elation that Hazel has felt every day since she rang her bell. Hazel’s life
is different than it used to be, but is a direct manifestation of God’s plan
for her on earth, and that is a beautiful thing.
Ka-thump, thump, swishhh. Ka-thump, thump, swishhh.
Ka-thump, thump, swishhh.
"May the God of hope
fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by
the power of the Holy Spirit.” – Romans 15:13
