I'm not religious.
But last night I went to bed praying. And this morning I woke up praying. I'm not sure what I even believe in, but if there's a God out there, I wanted to make sure he (or she) heard me.
Charlie and I went to Target and I prayed up and down the aisles (while he adorably tried to put his new pair of sunglasses on while they were still firmly attached to the packaging).
We came home and he crushed leaves on the sidewalk while I prayed.
We went in the backyard and while I watered the plants I prayed. Charlie honked the horn on his toy car. Maybe he was praying too.
We were praying for this news.
The hardest part about mom's diagnosis, treatment, and subsequent life thereafter is having to live from scan-to-scan, appointment-to-appointment. We don't like that it's our life, but that's what it is. And so we celebrate the good days. And keep on praying, hoping that someone's listening.