6 years ago today, my wonderful son entered the world and changed my life forever. Today we celebrate all that he is and all that he has overcome in his few short years on Earth. Despite the seemingly endless challenges he’s had to face, he remains an (almost) normal 6 year old. He’s active, unbearably sweet, stubborn and prone to tears. He loves LEGO and Star Wars and art and hockey. He’s immensely curious about the world around him and loves to learn and explore. He lives in the vast universe of his imagination, playing roles and creating stories.

I have very foggy recollections of the summers of my childhood. They stretched out forever, endless days of lazy, unscheduled lovely boredom. There was usually an un-airconditioned road-trip from our home in New York to Toronto, which meant a stay at my grandmother’s house, play with my cousins, and a camping holiday in the wilds of southern Ontario. There were weeks spent at some sort of sub-par day-camp and random tennis lessons here and there. Taken as a whole, those memories are good. There is beach, ice-cream and the smell of pines at campgrounds. There is play and bike-rides and swimming.

An early-morning conversation with Gavin:

G: Why do you wear this golden ring? (pointing to a plain gold band on the ring finger of my right hand.)

Me: It was Bubby’s wedding ring. She gave it to me for good luck when you were sick.

G: Did you have good luck?

Me: Yes, because you got better.

G: Does it still give you good luck?

Me: Yes. I get to snuggle with you every day.

Today is our D-day anniversary. Four years since the words, “Gavin has a brain tumour,” utterly exploded our world into thousands of pieces. Four long years of putting those little pieces back together in a way that makes sense, although nothing has ever been the same, nor will it ever be.

I learned yesterday that Monday’s MRI was clear!

Our clinic appointment yesterday was routine. I could see by the way that the fellow came in and started chatting casually that she didn’t have any major news for me - I assume if there was something dire to be shared that there would be some sort of observed protocol, not “Hi, how are you guys today?” But prior to her entrance I allowed those fearful thoughts a moment’s notice and found myself shaking and on the verge of vomiting. Thankfully, my mother was there to keep it together with Gavin and kept him busy with colouring.

Disclaimer: This post is deeply personal, and not for the medically squeamish.

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. Yes, Gavin’s little sister has currently taken up residence. She’s been baking away for 20 weeks now and making me feel elated. And miserable. And excited. And fearful. She will make her grand entrance this autumn.

I’ve been waiting a long four years for this little girl. In the hard days after Bean’s diagnosis, the future of our family was very uncertain. We’d learned that Gav carried a genetic mutation which predisposed him to certain types of pediatric malignant tumours - in his case, CRINET. On learning this, I then knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was the carrier that had passed it on to him, although Cancer Genetics assured us that it was extremely unlikely, I knew, that when it comes to our family and its history, that it was in fact, extremely likely.

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain. – Vivian Greene

The above quote has come across my path 3 times in the last couple of days. Days, which have been, in all honesty, difficult.

I am trying - trying - to come to a place of acceptance about the realities of our life. Gavin is home from school sick today, as he was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. As he has been 5-7 days of every month so far in 2014.

My son’s skull no longer has a large hole in it.

His surgery on Wednesday was a success and he is recovering well. I want, as always, to offer thanks to all my friends and family who sent messages of love and support and who have been with me not just during the last two days but over the last four years.

When a much-dreaded event has finally passed, it is only then that you realize how it has been haunting you. Jerking you awake with a start of fear in the middle of the night, anxious little voices worming their way into your conscious thoughts at any moment throughout each day. This surgery has now been booked for a couple of months, and not a day has gone past that I haven’t thought dire things about it. But it is over. Having leapt hand-in-hand over this particular hurdle, we are collectively moving on and hopeful that this will mean good changes for the Bean.

As ever, I’m astonished at how quickly time sprints away, and here we are at the first day of spring. Which in Toronto means that it’s grey, chilly, and the dirty old snow and ice left over from this ridiculous winter is slowly melting to reveal a disgusting debris of cigarette butts and plastic bags everywhere. But, the tulips are pushing hopeful heads up in the backyard so it ain’t all doom.

“Well, it looks like you managed to stop him from going over the precipice this time,” my mother said, quite dramatically to me the other day. (I know where I get my flair for theatrics from.) We were on the phone, and I was filling her in on the details of Bean’s latest illness, which kept him h0me from school on Tuesday.

In my last post, I made a lot of prophecies about an extremely healthy year ahead in 2014. So far my technique with the old crystal ball could use a bit of work. Gav kicked the year off in hospital, and then was well enough to go to school on the Monday. He had a doctor’s appointment on the 7th and received one of his jabs - which in turn produced a fever and 3 days off school unwell. No vomiting - phew. He had a “normal” week at school before we departed on our family trip to Australia on the 17th.

It’s January the second, and we are all still full of rosy resolutions and lofty ambition for the new year.

2014! Exactly how did that happen? And how do we still not have household robots and flying cars? Admittedly, I am tapping out this post on a device that would have been completely Star Trek in the year of my birth, but I still feel that we have a ways to go to meet the future.