Sidney appears twice in this commercial along with friends and people he knew in Memphis.
From Home with Love …
We are home.
All of us. Together. Home on our hill.
Sidney and I crept up the driveway on a Saturday evening, two weeks ago. No one knew we were coming home early. They were all busy preparing for Rachel’s 13th birthday party, which was the same day.
The evening was full of surprises. The family got a son and brother home. The coming-home son got his own surprise — an almost finished room in the basement. One by one, as aunts and grandmas arrived, each walked into the living room, not expecting to see the one they were missing.
It was a good evening.
Sidney has finished his chemo treatments for pineoblastoma. He is in the recovery phase. All that chemo beat up his bone marrow, and he needed blood and platelet transfusions to build his body back up. We are hopeful that he will not need any more blood. Today, he got a platelet transfusion. Platelets often look like orange juice.
Sidney’s 18th birthday is March 13th, and we are hoping to be back home celebrating by then.
at a major fundraising event for St. Jude.
(from Memphis with love . . .)
Being away from home is hard. Cancer, sickness, endless hours in the hospital are hard.
But the darkness cannot encompass us with good friends who shine light and joy.
Sidney particularly bonded with Marco. Marco finished treatments and went back home to Canada. Before he left, Sidney and I took Marco and his mama to a Sonic. Apparently, there are wild rumors in Canada about the awesome milkshakes of Sonics in America. I don’t think our Canadian friends were disappointed.
Sidney cozied up to this cutie today. Sweet Camille has turned a corner and is clearly feeling better. She was interested in Sidney Nintendo, so he showed her Animal Crossing, but she seemed to spend almost as much time . . .
doing this — sweeping her eyes up to look at Sidney. It was precious.
Camille — a bright, happy moment in our day.
sounds like the End
maybe they are the same thing
I am the mouse running . . . nowhere
marking the calendar, scheduling bloodwork, MRIs, lumbar punctures, chemo,
crossing off these days
longing for The Day.
I have my Son here whom I cherish,
Together, we make a doctrine of our present, amputated life
with music and new friends.
We make happy in the moment
but sorrow nudges our periphery,
stretching to a hazy horizon,
a destination where I hope to find
the Father, another Son, a red-haired Daughter, a brown-eyed Daughter.
So far away
sorrow and hope entwined.
You are my bones, breath and blood. I spill You from my pen
onto my little notebook
while I sit in waiting rooms.
I talk to You in the shower, driving to the store, taking out trash.
All my Words, spoken and written to You, for You, about You.
Perhaps I try to speak You into being
here with me.
Your Absence is as real to me
as the person standing beside me in this borrowed kitchen
while I stir the cabbage.
Perhaps I hear Your Absence louder
than Your Presence —
I hope not.
I hope my ears hear
and my eyes see You
clear and subtle
when You share Your heart,
tell me Your story,
show me Your beetle,
play Your song.
Did you know Time is elastic?
It stretched long these last months,
each moment anorexic without
I want to snap Time back to
our Together in a wooded Eden on the hill.
Instead, I wait
I wait for our Restored Home on the horizon
while I use my heart, hands and words to redeem now.