Nobody's #1

It's hard to believe it, but one year ago today (April 21) was Sarah's final chemo treatment. It wasn't, of course, the last day she had to deal with the side effects--but it was the last time she had to have a bag of the "agent orange" ported into her abdomen.

There are days--like today--that I can only refer to 2008 as a "blur." It was all too surreal, as if being thrown into a play where you're a main character, but you haven't a clue as to what to say or do. An uneasy sense of being "lost" in your own life. Time standing still. No sense of beginning or end.

To recognize what she went through, and then to see her today...healthy, alive, strong, happy....it's almost to much to take in.

But sometimes the worry and fear remain. When I read about an old schoolmate who is currently undergoing chemotherapy for the second or third time....when I hear stories of church acquaintances who have been diagnosed...or when I just happen to pass by a billboard that talks about cancer...in those instances, I'm reminded.

It touched us. It changed our lives. It stole things. And, it always lurks.

No, I don't think about it all the time, but I do think about it from time to time. There's always a twinge of worry. There's always that "what if" scenario that plays in my head.

And it isn't nice.

Yet, for this day, as much as I can, I focus on what is good. God has remained faithful to us, providing Sarah with healing, and health. She is in remission. And, other than her now-curly hair, she shows no outward indication that she underwent the hellish events of last year.

And that's what I'll remember today.