The Climb: Truth lights the path for faith and hope in the midst of fear and despair

By Mary Kay Hawley

Everyone is on a spiritual journey, whether they acknowledge it or not.

Everyone, at one point in life, hits a roadblock of suffering and pain. When that happens, a choice appears: to allow hardship to make you bitter or to allow it to make you better. Mary Kay came to such a junction the moment she discovered her vibrant nine-year-old dau

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Mar 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640889828

Book preview

Preface

There are a few things you should know about this book:

1. THE CLIMB spans over fifty-seven years. All encounters and conversations have their bases on true events. Although this is a book about a journey of faith, I do not claim to be a religious expert. My hope, however, is to bring God glory through good and bad seasons of my life. My hope is to ignite your faith, for you to pursue a personal relationship with Jesus. I also believe God has told me to write His story—He has told me twice, showing me clear signs to get this journey on paper.

2. The Climb is three-dimensional, so I use the formatting of normal, italic and bold typeface—in chapters, sections and passages—to characterize dimensions. In normal type, I tell the story of my daughter Katie’s battle with cancer. In italic type, I reflect upon past events in my life that encouraged me through her journey, and to remember God’s emotional, physical and spiritual provision in my life. And in bold type, I share my perception of what I believe may be occurring in the spiritual realm.

3. I will donate a percentage of my profits to the following charities: Soccer For Hope; Jessie Rees Foundation’s Never Ever Give Up campaign (NEGU); Gold Rush Cure Foundation.

Thank you for choosing The Climb, I appreciate your support, and prayers, always, to find a cure for cancer—once, and for all.

Introduction

Everyone has a story. Everyone is on a spiritual journey, whether they acknowledge it or not. Everyone eventually dies, but not everyone will live.

The Climb, inspired by the life of my youngest daughter, Katie—a.k.a. Kit Kat, took us all on such a journey. As she entered a world of terminal illness at the young age of nine, not only she, but our family and the community around us had to dig deep, to find the strength to move forward. As she entered a world surrounded by despair, our pursuit began to find joy in the midst of horrendous sadness. As Kit Kat had her once fairy tale world turned upside down, the climb began, to discover the meaning of life, in the middle of fighting potential death.

Twice God has asked me to share her climb toward physical, mental and spiritual health. Over a decade ago, I sat in my husband’s office, approaching page fifty of Katie’s story, suddenly I stopped. Being plagued with doubt, I shut the computer down. I stared at the black screen praying, God, do YOU really want me to continue?

Within seconds, I hear the doorbell. Looking out the second-story window, I see an acquaintance. Katie attended preschool with this woman’s son over five years earlier. I hadn’t spoken to her since. Rushing downstairs, I open the door looking puzzled. She explains how she has had a gift for Katie; she had meant to drop it off for weeks. Today she was in the neighborhood and took a chance we’d be home. Inside this tiny box was a necklace with the word CLIMB. God gave me my answer.

It is not with false humility I share this. The Lord tells us; in our weakness His strength is perfected. Freshman year of college, my very first creative writing assignment, in my very first creative writing class, I spent a week (writing) my paper, no computers back in the early eighties. I rewrote it, edited it, read it to my family and rewrote it again. So excited to turn in my handwritten, seven-page essay. Much like Ralphie on A Christmas Story, the anticipation of receiving an A+ on my work kept me thinking of nothing else. The next day, I not only received an F, it was circled in red, with a HUGE message, Totally Incoherent scribbled across the page. Once I looked up incoherent in the dictionary, I was even more devastated!

Being eighteen, insecure, and self-deprecating, I never returned to that class. I had a short lived writing career.

As I fast forward ten years, possibly partly, giving away the ending to the book, Katie with ridiculous huge faith decided to attend Baylor University in Waco, Texas. She moved two thousand miles away from the safety of her home and local hospital. I, who have defined by my existence of attending to my daughters health and well-being for a decade, found myself shell shocked at the loss of my purpose in life.

After a month or so of her living in Waco, on a Saturday morning, I text Katie that I’m bored and don’t know what to do with my life. She doesn’t respond to my comment, but shares with me how much she loves Baylor and is meeting great friends.

Three days pass. Swimming alone on a Tuesday morning, I begin to pray while doing laps. Lord, what’s next? What assignment do you have for me now? I joked with Him about what I know I’m not good at. I tried teaching preschool, but had zero patience with those adorable, rambunctious, sticky hand rugrats. I attempted leading a junior high youth group, but could never keep them on topic. One night we spent forty-five minutes talking about one of the girl’s neighbors, aunt’s sick dog and how the fuzzy mutt needed prayer.

In my heart, I heard Jesus encourage me to write the book. I continued to swim, thinking about His words. Drying off I grab my phone, two messages from Katie popped up. She had no idea where I was at the time. Katie thought the first message hadn’t been delivered, so she sent it again.

Swim and write the book.

Swim and write the book.

I sat back on the lounge chair crying and laughing. So here we are. This is Katie’s story. This is my story. This is HIS story.

Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story—those he redeemed from the hand of the foe. (Psalm 107:2, NIV)

My prayer for everyone who picks up The Climb, is that it will bring you hope, wherever you are on your spiritual journey. My prayer for everyone who picks up The Climb, is that no matter where you are on your spiritual journey; blind at the base of the mountain, walking in righteousness on the path of light, hiding or backsliding in the dark recesses of the world, that you will know Jesus is ready and willing to show Himself to you. Just ask. My prayer for everyone who picks up The Climb, that you may know without a doubt it is possible to have a relationship with God the creator of the universe.

If you acknowledge Jesus Christ lived on this planet, suffered, died and was raised on the third day in fulfillment of the scriptures, then according in Romans 8:28, We know all things will work together for good to those who love God to those who are called according to His purpose. Give your life to Him and be prepared for adventures beyond your wildest dreams.

Food, water, shelter are man’s basic needs for their physical body to survive. In a world that won’t stop talking, many have neglected what the spirit needs to survive, what the spirit needs to thrive: unconditional love, peace, and joy, unchanged by the ever changing circumstances in our life, in our world. Your spirit will achieve these goals as you seek Him. Open your heart and mind as you come on this journey with us.

The Climb manifests resilience to overcome obstacles and to achieve the impossible, with faith in the one who all things are possible. Imagine the mental game, when everything inside is screaming, ENOUGH. Yet you had to just keep going. The Climb sets in motion a deeper love affair with God our Father, a deeper friendship with Jesus our Savior, a deeper trust and understanding of God our Protector and Healer.

My personal climb throughout life has consisted of many mistakes, missteps, and mishaps. Living with eyes wide shut for years.

Throughout our Climb, Katie and I found purpose in life as she faced death. God knows the number of our days. We get one birth, one dash in between, one death. How will we use the dash? Discovering the meaning of life, started at the realization that death is inevitable, confronting death caused us to confront life. What on earth are we here for? Through much prayer and heart to heart conversations with my daughter, the conclusion came down to this, to know God and to make Him known, to love God and to love others.

Our climb consisted of hurdles, hindrances, snags, drawbacks and unforeseen complications. Our climb as well consisted, with blessings in the battle, triumphs, miracles galore and unforeseen blissful days and weeks of jubilation. We chose to bring God glory, to proclaim the truth about Jesus, and to live each day for Him as if there were no tomorrows. Our climb continues, as the enemy of God awaits at every twist and blind spot to cohort us to remove our eyes and thoughts from the one who loves us. Our climb continues, as we recognize the depth of Jesus’s compassion, forgiveness and love.

Wherever you are on your spiritual journey, may Katie’s story, and my story, spur you on to not give up, to continue reaching for the summit of truth. The truth will set you free. Thanking God in the middle of the chaos, brought joy—when horrendous circumstances could have brought despair. Memorizing, mediating on God’s word fought battles of depression and anxiety. Katie and I both found peace in the storm through a personal relationship with Jesus. Simple steps of pressing in, even when we didn’t feel like it, taught us the importance of our daily times of prayer, worship and being still. As our relationship grew, acts of service sprung forth with little to no effort. I sit here in awe of how He faithfully has guided us.

The Climb, unlike other novels who may have a dozen or so characters introduced throughout book, this story has hundreds of players, coming in and out to play a role in our climb. Some were appointed for a season, others are lifers, all were vital.

Acknowledgments

My heart felt love and unlimited gratitude to all those who have lent a hand, said a prayer, spoke of word of encouragement and/or have loved on me and my family during our climb.

Without each and every one of you paving the way on this journey, we would have not been as successful in reaching our goal of unshakeable faith and courage.

Some mentioned below walked along our path for a season, others God placed as permanent fixtures throughout the storms and clear skies. Yet both are as valuable and were desperately needed and important to accomplish all that laid before us.

Listed in order of appearance in my life; my loving parents, Robert and Gerry; Bob, Michael, and Michelle, my supportive siblings; all LaCasse relatives; all Walby relatives; Ruth, my nanny; Saint Philips and Sister Jo Michael, my first grade teacher; Jesus, who I invited into my life at five; Katie, Lisa, Eric, Steve, Wendy, Laurie and Karen, my high school friends; Church of the Apostles, Pastor Reny Scott, Linda, Michael, Val, Gene, Pam and Wayne, Mr. Enrico, all my first spiritual mentors; EDS peers; YWAM friends; The Green family, Deborah, Ron, Robbie, JJ and Garrett; Simi Valley co-workers; Kelly first LA friend; the men I dated before Bob my forever; Pastor Rick Warren and Saddleback Church; The Hawley clan; John (who donated his B positive blood), Tom, Lynne and Lisa; Melanie and Katie—my precious daughters; Edendale neighbors, The Barbers, The Samans, Tracy and the boys, The Schreibers, The Neamands, The Bussells; Coach Mary of the Blues, and families; all the soccer clubs in California; Stoneybrooke Christian School, especially my SB-besties, Melanie’s SB-besties and Katie’s SB-besties; Melanie’s crew and lifers; Taylor, Steven, Nema and Ryan; Michelle, our nurse angel; Children’s Hospital, Doctor Araz, Doctor Stein and the dozens of amazing four west oncologist nurses who keep saving my daughter’s life; Bob’s weekend basketball buddies; Dawn Lewis, Katie’s homeschool teacher; Soccer For Hope; The Gold Rush Cure Foundation; NEGU; Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation; Crossline Church and Pastor JP; Gigi Johnson, Katie’s small group leader and mentor; Tuesday morning Bible study women, whose love, patience and friendship have changed my life forever; MADD group of teens in love with Jesus; Carson, Jake, and Jake, Katie’s first crushes; Katie’s Baylor besties; Andrew, a surprise from God for Katie’s heart; of course the over six hundred thousand hits/prayers on Caringbridge. If I missed anyone—I’m sorry and love you so much.

Thanks to all those mentioned and those not (God knows who you are) for lighting the way with prayer, for taking up the sword in battle, for standing and kneeling in prayer to keep our feet on the path God had prepared for us.

1.

The Blues

Answer me when I call to you, my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; have mercy on me and hear my prayer.

—Psalm 4:1 (NIV)

Be thankful in all circumstances. These words caught my attention as I mindlessly read them in a Christian self-help book recommended to me by a friend. Be. Thankful. In. All. Circumstances. As their meaning took life, I felt a surge of anger rip through my body. Slamming the book shut, I hurled it across the hospital room. The crashing sound echoed, breaking the silence of the space I had been sitting in for weeks.

Quickly glancing over at my sleeping nine-year-old daughter, Katie, I was relieved the noise hadn’t startled her awake. Anger slowly melted into sadness. Her helpless, lifeless body before me—her breathing so shallow, brought more tears to my eyes. I found myself concentrating on her stomach with unbreakable focus, to make sure I saw movement.

As if she could sense my presence, Katie’s tiny head turned toward me. Her dead eyes appeared to look through me, not at me. I mustered up a grin to hide my fear from her. One single tear rolled down her cheek, I want to go home, Mommy, I want to go home, she desperately pleaded. Before I could speak a word, her eyes shut and she sunk once again into a drug-induced sleep.

Standing at her bedside, hoping she’d wake up again, so I could tell her how much I loved her. Standing at her bedside, hoping she’d stay asleep, so she wouldn’t have return to this nightmare. Confused, exhausted, restless and sad, I returned to my plastic, blue chair accommodations. Laying back, pulling my knees to my chest, tears flood my pillow. How could this now be my reality?

Once upon a Time

MAMA, mama, wook at my pictshure, my five-year-old Katie beamed.

Baby girl, it’s beautiful! I responded with a giggle. Her lisp endearing, her hands, nose and clothes covered with blue, red and green finger paint, a moment frozen in time.

Katie’s best friends; all piped in, asking me to praise their creations too. Innocent, wide eyed anticipation, as if my approval would validate their efforts. Despite the newspaper covering the dining room table, there was paint everywhere, I mean everywhere. Thank goodness my husband, Bob was traveling this week.

These are fabulous, girls, I am so proud of all of you. Now why don’t you go outside and clean up, while I fix lunch, I encouraged.

Laughter, chatter, scrambling to the back yard, jockeying for who would get to use the hose first. One by one, they maneuvered around me, knowing touching anything with paint hands was forbidden.

The kitchen counter had laid out eight paper plates, wheat bread with cut crust, peanut butter and jelly, strawberry and grape, chips, fruit and water bottles awaiting. Melanie, my first born, almost eight came racing down the stairs with her besties; Taylor, and her Stoneybrooke friends. These four had been practicing made up dance moves to Britney Spear songs for the past several hours. Two also happened to be the older sisters to the little ones drying and dripping off in my kitchen. This was my life. Every summer, most weekday afternoons, and weekends my home had a revolving door of kids, art projects, games, movies, beads and glitters, which I treasured.

I’m saddened for taking my ultimate fairytale life for granted. Blooming late, I married my best friend, Bob (more about him later), in my thirties. It was the best decision ever. Done with the selfish years, we were ready to jump into the next chapter of our lives. We purchased our second home in Ladera Ranch, California a couple years after the birth of our second daughter, Katie. And this set the stage just right for a transition to a magical family lifestyle. Our cul-de-sac in this new development hosted a dozen homes with over twenty children under the age of twelve.

Melanie, our oldest child, loved playing in the streets, riding her bike and watching movies with her new best friend Taylor. Katie, our youngest child was one of the guys, riding her scooter, chasing boys, and participating in any and all ball games.

On early evening throughout the week, all the parents would sit on the steps watching and listening to the sounds of laughter, of innocence. On weekends someone would host a barbecue, open their pool for a party and/or their home for game night. I cherished these younger years.

When Melanie was born, I quit my job and never looked back. Once, I wrote in my journal every day is like Christmas with my daughter.

This child, in my eyes was flawless. She had beautiful blues eyes, porcelain skin, and natural blond curls. From the minute Melanie woke up, I read to her, blew bubbles with her, took her for walks, danced with her in my arms. How blessed to be her mom! She napped twice a day for hours and would tell us around seven pm, I tired Mama, night, night, Dada. Melanie was the picture perfect first child.

I often bragged about Melanie’s brilliance—annoying to my most my friends, maybe, but making my parents proud. She talked in full sentences at a very young age. At three, she brought home a potato chip and said, It looks like the state of Montana!’ And it did! From the moment he came in from work, Bob would grab his baby girl and spin her around—he called her Boookeedoo’s," because she loved books.

Girly girl as they come, she discovered a passion for cheerleading and dance. Always singing around the house, this sweet, sensitive, smart girl made us a family.

I gave birth to Catherine Elizabeth, a.k.a. Katie, almost two and a half years later. She was almost polar opposite of her older sister. She had tons of dark brown hair, almond shaped, dark brown eyes and an olive complexion.

Katie had a wild, free spirit from conception. Tossing and turning throughout my pregnancy. Even during her delivery, she kicked me one more time when her head and shoulders came out.

Little Katie was full of energy, much like her grandma. She never wanted to take a nap or go to bed at night. She preferred throwing and ripping books to hearing what was inside of them. Her joyful spunk, her feisty spirit drew people in. How blessed to be her mom!

I enrolled Katie in dance, so she would follow in her sister’s footsteps. But when she body—slammed the other little girls repeatedly, the ballet teacher pulled her out, recommending she try a contact sport instead. Thus, the days of soccer began. Her very first game at barely four years old, she managed to score seven goals. Loving the limelight, the applause and accolades, she would take a bow after every point she scored, waving at the crowds. A real ham, with a knack for winning the hearts of everyone she met. Bob nicknamed her Kit Kat. Her scrappy, fearless personality made us laugh most days.

We treasured both our girls. I absolutely loved being a stay home mom.

Our ideal family life was all about filling every day to the brim. Thanks to my mom, we had years of season passes to Disneyland. On weekends, the four of us road bikes in New Port, spent days riding Goofy’s roller coaster at Disney or tubed down one of the many waterslides at our local waterpark. Bob and I thought, in many ways, we had exceeded the American dream.

Rooting Melanie and Katie in a Christian community was a high priority. We enrolled both in a private Christian school called Stoneybrooke (SB). I spent many days volunteering in the classroom there. My girls met their closest SB friends, Melanie’s two besties had little sisters, who happened to be Katie’s besties, even better these friends mamas became my best friends. If our daughters weren’t at soccer practice or cheer practice, they were with their SB girls. Was Life good? No. Life was GREAT!

Simple times, sweet memories—a year before the initial diagnosis.

Traveling down memory lane brought temporary reprieve from the present. Traveling down memory lane brought pain of how life used to be and questions. Would those carefree days be gone forever?

The nurse’s aide, Anna startled me as she came in to check my girl’s vitals. Katie slept right through taking her temperature, which made me happy. Without speaking a word, my glare caught Anna’s attention. She motioned an okay sign with hand, indicating there was no fever. Throughout the past weeks, Katie had spiked several high temps, causing alarm for both the staff and myself. Knowing she rested with a 98.7, took at least one thing off my worry sheet.

Insomnia, my only constant these past weeks kept me wide eyed and staring into my present darkness. Exploring the dimly lit room, an old TV set hangs from the wall, a window giving me a peek-a-boo view into the dark, lonely streets of LA, occasionally hearing faint sirens in the distance. Off in the corner, a chair, frayed with wear and tear. Next to my angelic daughter a tray table, with unused syringes, the faithful gray bucket, partially drank water bottles and crumbs from saltine crackers. Thin blue cloth curtains separated us from another sick child, another broken parent. I paced a few times around this typical, sparse but functional hospital room. Restless leg syndrome caused me to silently complain, as I attempt to relieve the atrophy from days and days of excessive sitting. Hard to imagine only a couple months earlier I had run marathons, now I find it difficult to get out of bed.

Staring into the void, falling back onto the chair, I allow my imagination to wander. Less than three months ago, our biggest concern was winning a soccer game or a cheerleading competition. Several months earlier, we had packed up the family for Katie’s soccer tournament in Northern California. Katie at nine years old had a passion for the game, a strong leg and natural talent for soccer. These attributes earned her a spot on one of the top girls’ soccer clubs, The Blues.

Two teams are battling for the finals. With the game tied, and less than eleven seconds on the clock, Kit Kat (number 3) comes charging down right field. From forty feet out, she blast the game and tournament—winning goal inches below the goal post, and inches above the opposing goalie’s outstretched fingers. Our sideline springs up, screaming in response to this well placed, back of the net point.

Coach Mary is a young athletic woman who modeled mental and physical strength carries herself with an uncharacteristic calm demeanor during most games. But this afternoon even she jumps to her feet. Remembering the joy on number three’s face as the final whistle blows, the girls in bright lime green and blue, celebrating victory, dive in to hug my daughter, still brings a smile to my face.

The Blues encouraged parents (demanded parents) to keep respectful and quiet on the sidelines. Coaching your kids, yelling at the refs, and/or feuding with the opposing team was strictly forbidden. However, my well-meaning husband’s passion would sometimes get the best of him. At this tournament, while instructing Katie on the field, our entire team hears Coach Mary across the way say, Bob, I can hear you. Katie’s you got in trouble smirk to her father as she ran by had all of us in stitches.

All Coach Mary’s difficult practices had paid off. Twice a week, the girls endured a grueling ninety minutes of one on ones, pushing and shoving scrimmages, and drill training. After they dragged themselves off the field to grab their water, they’d be ready to collapse, to catch their breath. Coach would huddle her fierce players. She developed not only their bodies, but their minds, would encourage them to dig deep and climb the mountain next to the field.

You could hear the groans, and complaints, but without fail one girl would call out, I’m going to win! Then a burst of competitive energy would ignite these exhausted kids, and up they ran, huffing and puffing, than laughing, all the way down.

That semi-weekly climb gave Katie and all her teammates the little extra oomph to go full speed, even when they felt emotionally and physically spent. That weekly climb up the mountain, that little extra physical training prepared Katie for just this game. The climb, that little extra emotional training prepared Katie for a battle, neither she nor I expected she’d have to face.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep—BEEEEEEPPPPP!

The bedside IV alarm snaps me back into the present. Hours had quickly, and slowly passed as I entertained the good ole’ days. The room dimly lit. My vision was blurry, the clock, nearing 3:00 a.m. I fumble for the call button. Megan, Katie’s top five favorite RN’s comes within minutes once it was pushed. Fiddling with the tubes, our precious nurse whispered, Katie’s first chemo is over. She did great. The floodgates of my tears opened—I could not close them. With my head in my hands I wept as quietly as I could, until I felt physically sick.

These first few weeks were nothing short of a nightmare that I couldn’t wake from. These first few weeks shocked our little Orange County family and the community around us. These first few weeks, they will haunt me for the rest of my life.

With compassion of an angel, I felt Megan’s warm hands on my shoulders. Knowing this cancer world was new to us, she gently and confidently soothed my fears, encouraging me to try to get some sleep. Shaking my head up and down, like an exhausted toddler, I lay back, only to have my thoughts drift back to the events leading up to this moment.

Our healthy, athletic little ray of sunshine had complained of a stomach ache less than a month ago. On the way down to San Diego for a Club Soccer Tournament, Katie frantically asked my husband to pull the car over.

Daddy, hurry, I feel so sick!

Bob swerved in and out of traffic until he made it to the shoulder. She threw the door open and threw up all along the side of the freeway. Surprisingly unaffected, she giggled, It must have been the sour milk. She rinsed out her mouth with water and told Bob (her dad and biggest fan) she was okay. Katie went on to play three games that weekend. We did notice she was off, but she insisted she felt fine and wanted to play. Because her pain continued through the weekend, we took Katie to a local urgent care clinic.

Our first of many miracles, the nurse on duty, Michelle had a gut feeling regarding Kit Kat’s gut symptoms and ordered a CT scan. I told Bob, I thought a CAT scan for a child’s stomach ache was excessive. It wasn’t.

Within hours, we were called back and given the news that a spot had shown up on her liver. We sat in shock when we learned Katie’s urgent-care physician referred her to a children’s hospital. No one knew yet what the spot was. And not knowing was making me crazy with worry. Not knowing had me researching and Googling for answers. Not knowing had me asking everyone and anyone for advice. I needed to hear it was nothing. I needed someone to reassure me everything would be okay.

Calling my mom, sister, brother, Bob’s family and everyone I could think of, we asked for prayer. Not wanting to alarm anyone, I told them as little as possible.

Those prayers began to open doors. Bob’s closest friend on The Blues, Curt was best friends with Len, the former President of Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation (PCRF). This connection got us in contact with Dr. Stein, a top-notch surgeon at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles (CHLA), forty-eight hours after the original scan.

Still not knowing what the spot is. Doctor Stein speculated Katie might had an intestinal issue called a whipple. But he wouldn’t know for sure what it was until he opened her up. He explained the procedure, then apologized that he didn’t have an opening for three weeks!

Under my breath, in my heart I cried out to Jesus for help. There was no way I could go another twenty-one days, not knowing what was wrong with my daughter. Before my prayer had even reached the heavens, his assistant poked in and said he just got a cancelation for Wednesday! He offered it to us and we took it!

On the day before we drove Katie backup to LA, Melanie and a handful of SB friends came to our local pool with snacks, laughter, and love. After hours of Marco Polo, colors, underwater handstands and lunch we gathered around Kit Kat to pray. Surrounding my daughter, we laid hands on her head and spoke prayers. Prayers from long time walkers with Christ, down to nine-year-old little girls and boys, poured into my girl. It’s one of those beautiful summer afternoons of splashing, chicken fights, and innocent play, bringing both joy and sadness. Little did any of us know that would be the last time Katie would be able to swim for a very long time.

Pouring water logged, tired, hungry little girl in the car, the next morning, Bob and I drove Katie up to CHLA. Signing our lives away, we are instructed to take a seat until called.

We learned early on hospitals run on their own time clocks. Our 8:00 a.m. time slot kept getting pushed up, until finally she was wheeled back a little after three pm.

The doctors instructed no food after midnight, and Kit Kat was starving. I decided, I wouldn’t eat either in solidarity. I was starving too. Bob, Katie, and I did make the most of our time, playing cards, board games, I spy. Distraction would become a necessity, not only for my youngest, but for me as well. Even through all the worst days, I will always treasure the stolen moments of simple play. Time can be wasted, being present; being eye to eye and heart to heart with my child was such an unexpected precious gift during a dark journey.

Waiting in the prep area can be terrifying, especially for first timers. In a children’s hospital, you find yourself surrounded by little angels, the endless cries from babies. The despair in parent’s eyes can literally shred your heart in a million pieces. You see family members doing their best to keep it together, each family holding onto hope that their child is okay, each family locked in their own fears. The surroundings, the sounds, the smells paralyze you. After a while, it becomes like white noise, bodies moving, people talking, you see their mouths move, but you can’t hear what they’re saying, you become numb, sucked into a world of suffering and there is no escape.

One by one, you meet the team of nurses, anesthesiologist, and lastly the surgeon. They do their best to reassure you all will be fine. Nothing can ever prepare you for watching them put your child under. Bob and I stood at the foot of her bed while they injected liquid sleep into her veins. So little, she looked up, her eyes filling with tears until the