Two aspects of the theme of contrasts are on my mind. Tonight I want to write about this summer. This summer has been the worst summer of my life and the sweetest summer of my life. The pain and suffering that Cathy has endured and the knowledge of the more to come has been horrible. The fear that comes along with a cancer diagnosis has caused us to question everything in our lives. The changes in our lives have been unwelcome and abrupt, but some of them will ultimately make us a healthier and stronger family. Watching the love of my life have biopsies and surgeries, infusions of lethal chemicals directly into her jugular, chemicals that if spilled on her clothes would burn through the fabric, and the exhaustion from those drugs has made this summer terrible. Talking about the coming surgeries with their certain periods of extended pain and disfiguring results has been wrenching. Seeing Cathy's trepidation as we near these surgeries is frightening.  I don't know how to comfort her or what to say. I feel confident that I can care for her physically, but how do I help her heart heal?

This summer has been different than the previous 23 for me in the respect that I didn't attend a marching band camp. It's a sign of the huge change that my career will undergo in the next nine months. My sacrifices are nothing compared to Cathy's, but they are the ones that I live so I know them more intimately. No longer will I have the daily opportunity to challenge and be challenged by amazingly talented young musicians and incredible works of musical art. I fear atrophy of my musicianship and musical intellect. This horrible summer I've had to face this unknown and follow it through with faith that God has put me where he wants me. Simultaneously I look forward to the decrease in some of the less desirable aspects of teaching high school. The intermediate school is sure to contain lower levels of teenage angst and it's associated dramatic episodes. The climate at MIS will be uplifting on a daily basis.  I will be able to help Jonah get to school before I go and I'll be able to come home after school with rare exception. For the first time in ten years I haven't approached August with reservation. While I love teaching marching band and working with the students to see them grow and work toward achieving the unimaginable, August has signaled the beginning of the three months that I don't see my family. Thinking about the 90 hour weeks, saying good night to the kids on Wednesday knowing that I won't see them again until Sunday evening is always painful. Not having to face that this summer has been beautiful. 

The sweetness of the summer has come from looking at my family differently. I won't say that I value them more than I did before Cathy's diagnosis, but I certainly value my time with them all. I feel this summer I've come to know them in a way that is more loving rather than as a simple function of family.  While I know that Cathy is going to heal and be with us for many years to come, her cancer is a daily reminder that there are no guarantees that we get a tomorrow. This reminder has added a sweetness to each hug Jonah gives me, each joke Aaron tells me, and every spoonful of carrots I feed to Clara. It has reinvigorated my knowledge of how blessed I am to be in the world with Cathy. Cathy who sees the good in all, Cathy who knows that to have friends you have to be a friend, Cathy whose own faith increases my faith, Cathy who I love, Cathy who I want to be near. 

Each time I think of how my school year will be different and how I'll miss what I've known and loved about my work for so many years I will remember the time it takes to do all of that. I will also remember that each minute I spend doing that is time I spend away from my family. I don't want to spend any more times away from them. Our family needs time now and in the future. Too many memories are gone because I wasn't there to create them or because I didn't slow down enough to cherish them. And that subject is for tomorrow.