A Gust of Wind

Fall in Colorado has been absolutely breathtaking. Most days the weather has been the perfect balance: cool mornings in 40s, sunshine and 70s by the afternoon.

As typical, it's been very dry too--I can't remember the last time we've had a good rain. But snow has fallen in the mountains, however, and the white peaks shine brightly along the front range.

 

And the trees. Man, I have never seen such vibrant colors. I just can't get over how bold the reds are, how bright the yellows, and how deep the purples have been.

Molly and I collected a rainbow one morning before school on our walk. 

We've been living it up in this beautiful season. We visited a pumpkin patch, one of my favorite things to do! The field of orange pumpkins, the snowy mountains behind them--it was the most picturesque pumpkin patch I've ever been in.

We went up into the mountains last weekend and took a ride on the Georgetown Train Loop near Idaho Springs. What a treat that was! We couldn't have asked for a nicer day.

And in between, we've been ooohhh-ing and awwww-ing over the trees. Pulling over to take photos, stopping on our walks to admire the splendor of God's creativity in color.

But this week, it is apparent this season is coming to an end. After another 75 degrees and sunny day on Monday, yesterday the wind changed directions. The sky was dark and cloudy. I watched the tree branches sway and bend in the strong wind, and heard the crackling of leaves blowing down the road on my walk. Blankets of leaves lay in people's yards today. Piles, beautiful piles!, but piles nonetheless of leaves are in the street gutters.

This unbelievably amazing season is ending. And it's more than a little sad.

Soon, the darker, colder months of winter will set in. There seems to be an urgency to enjoy and make the most of each nice day while they last.



Fall is a hard season for me. One of my favorite seasons, but a hard one. As many of you may remember, it was this week we learned Drew's cancer was back. The day after Halloween, we had a meeting with the oncology doctor to discuss the fateful scan which had showed 3 new spots of cancer. We were told that in light of this new information, and despite all he had endured since January in treatment, Drew would probably die. And possibly, soon.

I'll never forget that meeting. The silence in between statements. The awful churning of my gut. The single tears falling down my hot cheeks as I asked more questions. The shattering of our hearts.

The room was quiet. It felt dark, the air heavy. Time seemed to stand still as Josh and I sat with the doctor in shock and horror.


But then the door burst open, and Drew rushed in full of noise and energy. He had been hanging out with the receptionist (one of his many friends at Mayo) while we had our meeting. But she had to get back to work, and so she was returning her sidekick to us. He ran right over to me on his tippy toes, like his excitement was actually lifting him up.

He showed me the picture he'd drew, "Look mom, look!!". His bald head was covered in peach fuzz--baby hairs starting to fill back in. His little two-year-old fingers pointing to his picture, his eyes bright and flashing that sparkle that let you know he was feeling great.

How can this be?? I remember thinking as he was in my lap. This can't be true, it just can't. My sweet little boy, so full of life, was going to die...


That day five years ago was much like yesterday. Everything was going so well, and we were truly experiencing real joy on our journey through pediatric cancer. And then, on Oct 30th, the sunny sky filled in with dark clouds. The wind changed direction, and seemed to blow off all of the beauty we had been reveling in in one big gust.

It was certainly more than a little sad. There was definitely a new sense of urgency to enjoy each good day with our Drew.

We'd have just over 11 weeks with him after that day, before Jesus welcomed him into Heaven...

But there is good news. Yes, the wonderful fall we've had is coming to an end and winter will set in. Although we'll surely have hard days, if we are open to it, we'll have some good days too. And soon enough, it'll be spring again. The days will be longer, the sun will shine bright, and the trees will have new buds on their branches.

My Drew is gone for now, and that's hard. So hard. It's been almost 5 years since I've heard his voice, or seen his face. But if I'm open to it, I can still feel his sparkle, even if I can't see it in his bright blue eyes right now.

His warmth can still surround me, even if he's not sitting in my lap, showing me his pictures. And some day by the amazing grace of God, we'll be together again, my son and I. Never to part.

I've begun a big project this school year, something I've thought about doing but had yet to get started. I felt God pushing me this year though, saying it's time. So with Molly back IN school and Josh back at the office, I'm making time to bring our cancer journey with Drew, and the lessons we learned about joy along the way, into a book.

I don't know how it will turn out, or what will happen to it once it's finished. I only know through experience that when God leads you somewhere, you follow. That if He begins a work in us, He'll finish it. That His truth doesn't return to Heaven empty handed.

So while I haven't been writing on here much, I've been writing each week since August, making my way through my memories of 2016 with the help of journals, photos, and conversations with people who were a part of our story.

I'm trying to just make steady progress--add to the book each week. Some sections of the story have been hard to get through. Memories trigger emotions I haven't felt for a while as we've moved forward with our life. But I trust it's good. It will be good for me, and whoever may read it someday.

And in the process, even though it awakens my heart who cries out again for the little boy we have lost for a time, my writing afternoons have become a comfort, too. A weekly time where I get to go back, and hang out with my Drew again. He's back to life for a few hours.  

And even though it hurts, and I miss him so much again, I feel filled when I'm done. I smile even with a pile of used Kleenex on the floor beside me. Satisfied and comforted that I'm getting these details out before I forget. And thankful that through this work, others may get to know the most amazing little boy.

A little boy who was like a gust of wind himself--quick and brief, but oh, so powerful.  His joy, trust, and endurance we all could learn something from.