My brave fight with cancer has begun.
You normally don't hear about it until the end when it's announced or spoken softly to someone or another, "After a brave fight with cancer ..."
Not much is ever said about the actual fight and I don't have a clue how to go about it.
Every day I wake up either right before Che or because of her.
Wanting Sarah to sleep or leisurely wake, I typically get up, shower, fix coffee and wait for our almost 4 year old to call, "Daddy!"
Sitting up in bed, sleepy eyed with sun streaked blond hair perfect in the front but a crazy mess of entanglement in back, she sighs, "Oh Daddy," laying her head on my shoulder before the sun rises I stop whatever thoughts I'm having and focus everything within me on ... this moment.
The taste of her hair as I kiss the top of her head ... the tininess of her breathing ... the coolness of her arms around my neck ... and the unwanted knowledge of cancer robbing me of the time I have left with Che.
"Lucky Charms for breakfast Da-da?"
"Any damn thing you want honey," and she holds my hand as we retrieve the magical bag of marshmallows with no cereal I'd always heard about but never actually seen until Sarah tracks down multiple bags because my wife never allows those she loves to go without anything they want.
Che won't eat the green ones anymore because the sugary unicorns, rainbows and four leaf clovers makes her poop that color.
Che reasons if she doesn't eat the green ones everything will return to normal.
I wish.
"This is our new normal," Sarah says and there is a sense of it to most days.
Fear of the future can drive you crazy but Sarah's got crazy, extremely unpleasant planning to do so she's prepared for whatever contingency while I simply wait to see what's going to happen next.
We do our best to talk about it but it's too raw to make it very far.
We nibble at deep conversations.
Everyone tells me how good I look but I find myself suspicious of compliments usually reserved for corpses in caskets.
"He looks good."
"You do look good," my wife tells me. "Don't let anyone cause you any grief! You don't owe anybody anything! It's time to focus on healing."
She's right of course but I'm finding it's like perpetually wishing for Christmas which takes forever to arrive and never reaches the idyllic fantasies we have of family, presents and peace on earth.
Tap ... tap ... tap.
My eyes open because Che's hitting the tip of my nose with her index finger.
"Da-da," she says grinning, grabbing my hand and pulling me from bed where Sarah still sleeps.
Grabbing Lucky Charms, red Hawaiian Tropic Fruit Punch, potato chips, a Rice Krispy treat and coffee, we turn on the television and cuddle beside each other on the sofa.
It's a grand way to start a day and we remain this way until Sarah wakes and calls, "Che!" and our daughter leaves everything on the couch to crawl in bed with her Mom.
I want lots more moments like these.
My fight, which I'm ultimately going to lose, means holding onto everything important to me now.
In spite of evidence to the contrary, I plan on living a long, long time, because there's too much to enjoy in my life.
So far, so good.
