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One year ago tomorrow is a day I will never forget. It was a Sunday. We went to church. We napped. Jason decided to work on the car. I decided to go for a run. I was getting on the treadmill when my mom sent me a text asking if we could FaceTime.

My stomach sunk immediately.

My heart started racing.

Within moments I was “face to face” with my parents who had the scariest look I have ever seen before. And then Scott confirmed the devastation I already felt when he announced, “I have cancer.”

I wanted to throw up. Literally.

My head started spinning.

I shoved the phone at J because I couldn’t breathe let alone speak. I started pacing & sobbing. And then I collapsed in a big heap on the floor. I finally pulled myself together enough to ask things like “what kind?,” “what’s the prognosis?,” etc. They didn’t really have answers for me. I called my brother (who happens to be a doctor, though not an oncologist) and demanded he answer all my questions. I was a big girl. I could handle bad news. I just. needed. news. Now. His words, “It’s not good.” Thanks, Big Brother. Apparently doctors have things called specialties and they don’t know everything there is to know about all things medical. Lame. I know.

J said, “Just go. Be with your family.” So I packed myself and Jud up and headed East on a journey that I was sure I wouldn’t be on for all that long. Here we are. A year later. We’re still on the stupid Cancer Train.

Can I get my money back? These are really crappy seats.

We have been through chemo. We have been through blood clots. We have been through surgeries. And nausea. And pain. And hiccups. Like literal never ending hiccups. We have been through different doctors. We have been through different chemo. We have been through, “I’m sorry. Nothing is working.” And here we are. A year later. Exhausted. Bruised. Scarred. Heartbroken. And just trying to enjoy every day God allows us with our precious Scott & G-Daddy.

And I find myself never wanting to get off this stupid Cancer Train if that means never having to say goodbye to this man who I may not share DNA with but will always be my dad.

For now, we will continue to enjoy every minute we have left and cling to the hope that our sufferings are fleeting. And the truth that Jesus is better.

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