Kindergarten

So tomorrow, Hudson starts Kindergarten.

This isn’t his first day of school he’s already done 2 years of preschool, but somehow Kindergarten feels different.

Preschool was dipping our toes into the water. Kindergarten feels like stepping into the current of a river that will carry him forward whether I’m ready or not.

I’ve spent his whole life, 1,900 days fighting to keep him alive, safe and loved. 1,370 of those days with the added bonus of cancer.

That number still takes my breath away. Every day of medicine, appointments, hospital walls, and sleepless nights has been counted. Every day of laughter, Mickey Mouse, Pancakes, and silly Hudson-isms has been counted too.

People keep telling me I should just be happy he’s here to start Kindergarten, Which don’t get me wrong I am. I am deeply, wildly, unspeakably grateful. When we started his journey we truly didn’t think Kindergarten was going to happen.

But gratitude doesn’t erase the ache. It doesn’t make it easier to watch him walk into a world I can’t control. It doesn’t quiet the voice that whispers: What if cancer takes more from him than it already has? What if I blink and I miss something precious? What if the world doesn’t understand? How do I hand him over to someone else to keep him safe, alive and loved?

The What ifs run wild.

Kindergarten isn’t just a milestone. For me and I’d assume other cancer mama agree, it’s a reminder that time doesn’t pause, even for kids who have fought battles bigger than their years. It’s joy and grief, hope and fear, gratitude and mourning, all tangled up together.

Tomorrow, when he puts on his backpack and walks through those doors, I’ll carry every ounce of thankfulness that we made it here and every tear that knows just how fragile and sacred this moment really is.

And again I remind myself of the promise and Hudson’s Theme Verse:

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10).

Surviving cancer doesn’t make motherhood easier. It just makes every step feel like a miracle. A miracle held in the hands of the One who has carried us this far and will keep carrying us still.

A Miracle that’s story was written long before we knew.