I've spent much of the last week playing back the final moments of normalcy in our lives. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. Trust me, if I had a pause button I would've pressed it by now (and quite possibly would've lived in the memory of tucking Addie into her own bed for the rest of my life).
For me, normal ended at about 12:23 p.m. on March 20 when I called Scott to see how Addie's appointment went. Normal ended as he struggled to string three words together.
"Addie has leukemia."
Normal ended with a punch to the gut and a cry I've never heard come out of my mouth.
Normal ended with a little girl looking up at her mom and dad and saying, "So I have cancer?"
It came to a grinding halt as that little girl grew quiet and her mom and dad considered the road we had ahead.
I was ready for that road.
Not this one.
I've written long and hard and late into the night, but I've chosen not to share much of that here.
Today this is all I've got.
|Quote: Dwight L. Moody|
Because spending the day talking to my little girl sounds like what I need to do. And so totally normal.