R is for…

Roses & Remission

Roses are my favorite flowers. From the lucious red long-stemmed varieties to prettily petaled English roses, there’s a rose for every mood and moment. Of my preferred blooms, a rose named At Last stands out. With curling peach petals, it’s delicate in nature with a sweet scent. This rose’s thorns aren’t terrifying, nor does its petite stature make a proud statement in the landscape. Where other roses are eye-catching and bold, in color or fragrance or in their sprawling nature, the At Last is resilient and content just to be. When I look at the At Last roses I’ve planted and stop to bury my nose in their petals, I can’t help but feel peaceful and grateful.

The last two weeks have been intense with back-to-back work trips. That, combined with the anticipation of a doctor’s appointment for our oldest daughter, has made me feel more stressed. For those new to my Substack, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare disease in 2019, and we’ve spent these years navigating trips to Children’s Mercy, infusions, flares, and fears that come with a serious diagnosis. We’ve found the balance needed to manage and move forward, and along the way, I help raise funds for the charity doing great work for finding a cure. I’ll be doing it again this Giving Tuesday, but other than driving awareness, our journey has been a quiet one.

I’m cautious.

Back in 2021, I shared a photo on social media of a cake I purchased to celebrate what we thought would be our daughter’s last infusion. Turns out, her disease flared, and we were back on a regular schedule at the hospital. Then came the comment when someone told me I had “jinxed it” by buying the cake. Every time I think of it, I feel my skin heat up. What a cruel thing to write to a parent going through such a thing. As our child has matured from an 11-year-old to a senior in high school, I stopped sharing updates out of respect for her privacy. That and to avoid the callous, judgmental, or useless commentary on the internet.

Back to the appointment this week, it went very well. The doctor said a word I feel anxious to even whisper since that silly cake… Remission.

Remission means a realistic hope for freedom for a young girl who has carried such a heavy burden.

Remission means opportunity and possibilities.

Remission represents answered prayers and immense relief...

Dare I say it? Yes.

At last.