I'm keeping a secret from my kids. It's not about Santa or the tooth fairy, unfortunately. We found out this week that another of Super Q's friends (incredibly, it's a friend whose birthday is within a week of his and Hannah's and with whom we have celebrated birthdays) has cancer. It is leukemia, and his prognosis is markedly better than Hannah's, but his family and financial situation are somewhat worse. It is expected that he will have 3 years of chemo and many painful spinal taps and spinal fluid treatment of some kind. It's terribly sad, so sad that I am purposefully keeping it from my boys. It's a departure from my usually frank approach to talking with the boys about life and death, but I don't think they are ready for this news. They are both still worried that they will also "get" cancer. Up to now, I have been able to use statistics to buttress my position, namely, "Oh, this is so rare. It hardly ever happens." Except when it does.
As recently as yesterday, Super Q told me, "I miss Hannah. I still love her. " He is so sweet; he frequently prays, "Thank thee that Hannah can be alive again someday. Thank thee that she can work up to heaven with you, and have fun." His gratitude is an example to me. Today we're going to her grave, armed with silk daisies, a Christmas ornament, and a little bag full of "gems" (polished rocks) from the Grand Canyon and little notes from the boys. I fully plan on being a red-eyed wreck for the rest of the day.