"Do you have to go to the Doctor tomorrow?" she asks as we sing night time lullabies.
She's cries and I try picking her up but she holds her hands in protest, backing away, screaming, "No Daddy you have boos-boos on your tummy and can't pick me up!"
We're cuddled on the sofa watching a movie and she playfully kicks one of the surgical scars healing, "knife wounds" is what Sarah calls them, making me wince in pain.
Making a tent we lay on the floor underneath and when we're called to dinner, Che scampers away but it takes me five minutes to roll myself into the right position to slowly pull myself up.
Today I had another Doctor's appointment.
Che's excited to play Barbies with her Mom while I'm gone.
When the moment comes to say goodbye, Che throws the Barbies on the floor, tears exploding from her eyes and screams, "I don't want you to go to the Doctor's Daddy!"
Painfully, I make my way outside.
Upon my return, Sarah hands me a letter Che wrote while I was gone.
She's forever drawing us pictures, coloring pages and making creative works of art on her bedroom wall, but this is the first actual letter she's written.
It's to me and I have no idea what it says.
Sarah hands me another page where she's had our little girl transcribe the words.
Dear Daddy,
I love you and hope you can be all better again!
You are wonderful.
Love, Clare.
My heart pumps fast, eyes fill with salt water and there are no words.
"She loves you," Sarah says with a smile.
It's so hard watching those I love most carry Cancer with me.
Yet at the same time I've never felt more loved.
Who ever said love is easy?
And when you're going through hard times, I can feel it in my fingers ... I feel it in my toes ... and while I hate the Cancer, I bask in the love.
