"Daddy, are you going to the Doctors today?" she asks climbing out of bed.
"Not today honey," I answer and she smiled pulling me inside the black hole of playing with her Barbies.
It's good I poured a cup of coffee before making my way to her bedroom.
It’s certainly because of the pandemic forcing preschool cancellations, playgrounds closing, McDonald's not allowing indoor seating and Chuck E Cheese going dark that all of her emotions are extreme.
Affection is over the top but frustrations are intense causing us to worry she may explode.
Naps or putting her to bed is agony because she fights sleep, though she’s exhausted, but is desperate to not be separated from her mother, me or her sisters.
To a three year old going to sleep may as well be dying.
Lord knows there's been concern about that in our house.
"Da-da how old will you be when I am 17?" she playfully asks because her sister Maddie's prompted her after exclaiming when she's 40 Clare will be 25.
"Tell Mad you're still get her into all the cool places when she's old," I say, deflecting the question.
"Dear Jesus please let me be alive when she's 17," I pray without words, staring at the joy she shares with her sisters.
"You'll be 77," Cassidy blurts out.
"Damn," I say without words, bringing my prayer to an end.
"I lub you for-e-net Dada," Che laughs running across the room to kiss me repeatedly on my bare leg.
My heart jumps, throat fills and moisture covers my eyes.
Cancer occupies my body but permeates our home, impacting each member of our family, influencing every decision, clouding plans and filling us with dreadful possibilities.
There is hope of course.
The good news is only 14% of the people who have the surgery die during the operation.
The bad news is the percentage goes up each year after every successful operation.
Many live long yet very different lives after the cancer's gone, though each passing year though many don’t. Internet research is maddening.
It's a good thing I'm in utter disbelief I have cancer.
Though I did come close to dying just a few short months ago and had it not been discovered terrorist cells were invading my body, I likely wouldn't be writing this now.
But my wife Sarah is one Hell of a warrior woman with Gypsy blood so she forces me to do things I don’t want and, much to her dismay, it’s cancer.
Health care is an amazing thing!
A few operations bring the symptoms under control and I feel, and look, better than I have in a year.
At the moment, you'd never know I have cancer.
But Che knows.
Sarah and the children know too.
And of course, I know but I don't think about it much.
I think about Sarah, Che, our children, friends who've surprised me and wonder why in Heaven's name God believes it's good we go through this.
“It is what it is,” my Mom’s fond of saying.
It reminds me of what God said to Moses ... “I am who I am.”
Sarah knows who I am.
Che does too.
I don’t know how but they do.
I Believe God does too.
Now it’s up to the cancer to learn what Che knows.
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