Half a life

Somewhere in this past week, a day passed by that I have long thought about. It is a day that is simultaneously remarkable and ordinary. It is the day that marks 3 years, 8 months since Anya received the diagnosis of Retinoblastoma. You may ask, why is 3 years, 8 months remarkable? It is the age that Anya was at diagnosis, which means that she has now lived half her life with the disease and its implications. It means that from this day forward, she will be living more of her life as a cancer survivor than she did - and we all did - in blissful ignorance of Retinoblastoma. Many times it seems unfair to me that Anya has had to endure so much and will continue to do so, and unfair is putting it lightly; I still cry about it, I still have anxieties, I still have to break the bad news to Anya that she has another impending MRI, or surgery, or whatever may be next. It still breaks my heart.

Most days, though, I don't think about the incredible unjustness of cancer. I think of cancer in one way or another on most days, but it has become just another part of our lives. In that way, this day that just passed is ordinary. Cancer happened to our family. The eye that Anya was born with is gone. These are facts, there is no changing them. While my heart may break, it also grows and learns. Anya continues to teach us all much about living and about loving.