I don't live in cancer world. At all. I just visit a couple times a year for checkups. But having spent a little time there adds a flavor to the rest of my life that I might not otherwise taste.
Teague just finished his first soccer season, and he loved it. He's just like the other six-year-olds. All of them cluster around the ball like it's a magnet, all of them want to kick it so badly that they'll steal it from a teammate to do so, all of them come off the field with sweaty heads and pink cheeks.
And I didn't sit there at the games thinking about when Teague was sick. That would have been crazy. I just watched the games, cheered like the other parents, and jumped out of my seat with excitement when my kid scored a goal. (That was its own kind of awesome.)
But somehow, knowing that Teague has had his head cut open and that his brain has been radiated, and that those things should give him trouble balancing but don't, made the soccer moments just a little sweeter.
I thank the Lord for these little things. And I'm a little hesitant in saying that because I don't want it to sound trite. I know we got off easy. Our kid beat his cancer in a matter of months. I'm ever-aware of many whose battles are longer or cause more damage or are even lost. But in my small way, I recognize that big mouthfuls of bitter, in whatever form, make way for a subtle kind of sweet that there's no other way to notice.
