I'm missing you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your zest for life.
I hardly see you because our schedule is so crazy.
You're out the door and headed to school each morning at 7:25.
You get home at 2:20, and I'm out the door by 2:40 to go to radiation.
A quick hug and kiss is what I get from you, and I am thankful for that little piece of you.
I get home about 3:45, and on Monday afternoons you're out the door, heading for Hapkido.
I sometimes get to take you on Wednesdays, but it depends on how I feel. It's not a guarantee that we get that time together.
The first lesson you probably learned is that there are no guarantees in life.
You're in bed each night no later than 7:30. Sometimes, you even pass out on the couch before 7:15.
You are only 6-1/2 and already deal with so much.
You have a brother who gets most of my attentio
I hate this disease. I hate the effects of the treatments. I hate that it has taken the better part of this year.
I'm sorry that Nathan has autism and epilepsy and that his medical needs are constantly in the front seat.
I'm sorry I have to go through chemo and radiation in order to live.
I'm sorry that the side effects of cancer treatment have made such a deep and viscous cut into our life.
I'm sorry that you have so much on your plate.
But you still sparkle.
You still shine.
You still play, imagine, and act....
Oh, the drama!
You will earn all the Oscars, my child......
You are so amazingly strong, resilliant, and courageous.
I am proud of you.
I love you, Isaac.
And thank you for each and every hug and kiss.
All my love always,