I write to you today with a head full of introspection and gratitude. Bear with me as I pontificate a bit. 🙂

It’s always a funny thing, driving onto the Anschutz Medical Campus.

For our family, this place holds a lot of history.

This is where Samantha received so much of her care. It’s where brilliant doctors tried to understand a little girl’s complicated mitochondrial disease and where we learned words and acronyms we never wanted to know.

Years later, this is where Ryan came for answers and care as mitochondrial disease began taking more and more from him.

And now, it’s where Cynde is fighting cancer.

So yeah…driving onto this campus hits a little differently for me.

Anschutz is a busy hub of people who are really sick. Behind almost every window is a family waiting, hoping for good news, sitting beside someone they love or trying to figure out what comes next.

But that’s only part of the story.

It’s also a busy hub of researchers searching for answers to some of the most complex diseases — cancer, mitochondrial disease, ALS, epilepsy and so many others.

It’s a place where thousands of doctors, nurses, researchers, therapists, techs and caregivers come to work every day and say, essentially, Let’s see what we can do.

There is something incredibly hopeful about that.

Maybe that’s why I always feel a tad nostalgic, weepy, hopeful and proud when I drive onto Anschutz.

Our family has experienced some of its hardest days here.

But we’ve also experienced extraordinary care here. We’ve watched people fight like hell for the people we love. We’ve benefited from science, research, medicine and people who have devoted their lives to making someone else’s impossible situation a little more possible.

Yesterday, they did that for Cynde.

Cynde did not have a great night last night.

She had some nausea, it took a while to get her settled into her bed, and someone checked on her about every 15 minutes.

BUT…

It was so much better than having a terrible night because she was in terrible pain. Or because her vitals were out of whack. Or because, because, because.

A very complex surgery went well.

Today looks good.

And I am grateful.

This morning, they laid out a plan for her to do some walking.

I thought, Well, that seems pretty aggressive considering you pillaged her belly yesterday.

But who am I to judge?

Here is Cynde, walking the hallways less than 24 hours post-pillaging.

And Pops and I got to complete the puzzle.

And today I am so stinkin’ grateful.

Grateful for an amazing surgical team.

Grateful that Cynde decided, from the very beginning, to face this head-on. That she decided she could do hard things.

Rest with a good blankey post walk!

Grateful that Pops has a little spark back in his eyes.

I will not lie to you. This has been hard.

I am grateful for good friends, a good therapist and a good hubs who held me as I kind of lost it — as I said out loud that this was way too much for my family. Way too much for me. As I looked to the universe and pleaded for just a pause in the trauma.

Maybe that’s part of gratitude, too.

It doesn’t mean pretending the hard things aren’t hard. It doesn’t mean we aren’t tired or scared or sometimes really, really angry about what life has handed us.

Maybe it just means recognizing the moments when the weight gets a little lighter.

Cynde still has a hill to climb. This is the beginning of a new chapter, not the end of the story. Her body needs to heal. We still have more rounds of chemo ahead, and then we will reassess.

But today?

Today feels like we can breathe a little.

Kiss the Phews on their stinky heads.

Walk the dog.

Laugh a little louder.

Finish a puzzle.

And revel in the seemingly ordinary miracle of walking the hospital hallways less than 24 hours after a very complex belly pillaging.

Today, I am so stinkin’ grateful.

Thank you, dear Tribe, for continuing to walk with us. ❤️