This post is by my beautiful wife Rachel. She wrote it last week.
We arrived home Tuesday night from a quick trip to San Jose. Madyson had appointments at two different hospitals, one on Monday and one on Tuesday, so we made it into a mini vacation for everyone and stayed in a hotel for one night. It has been an honor to get to know Madyson, her mom and whole family better. We go over to do crafts at her house a couple times a week and we’ve watched her recover from brain tumor removal surgery and turn back into her energetic little self: singing quietly as she does crafts, babbling to herself, her sister and to me (oh how I WISH I could understand everything this precious girl says), dancing, and always requesting the purple paper and ALL the purple paint. But it was not until this trip to San Jose that I held her. Her mom was having a hard time getting the hang of buckling and unbuckling Madyson from her car seat, so I would step in and do it, then lift her from her seat to the ground. And in those moments, I was able to hold her for a brief moment and feel how she is in the process of becoming a big kid, but she still has some precious baby chub on her. Just like my Jacob. Holding her made me realize just how deeply my heart is in this and how much I want this little girl to be able to grow up, thrive, know how loved she is, and continue to shine her light of giggles, songs, and the love of purple. We’ve been waiting for news of a diagnosis of some kind, and praying with her family for a miracle. It’s hard to fully understand the diagnosis, but it sounds like the doctors have told Madyson’s mom that she has glioblastoma multiform. In my brief google search, I read that this disease gives adults 15 months to live once they’ve been diagnosed. I know that the devastation I feel about this is only a very small taste of what her mom and family feel. We will continue to pray with them and for Madyson and pray that we have wisdom to know how to be there for them in this time and how to help. One bright spot from this whole experience happened as we dropped Madyson and her mom off at the hospital on Monday in what Charlotte called a scary part of town. Charlotte’s little voice piped up from the backseat. “I want to be praying for Madyson,” she said. Okay, do you want to do that now? we asked. She nodded then prayed, simply, as only a child can, “Dear Jesus, I hope Madyson bes well. Amen.” ❤️ Amén and amén. Please continue to lift Madyson and her family up.
We arrived home Tuesday night from a quick trip to San Jose. Madyson had appointments at two different hospitals, one on Monday and one on Tuesday, so we made it into a mini vacation for everyone and stayed in a hotel for one night. It has been an honor to get to know Madyson, her mom and whole family better. We go over to do crafts at her house a couple times a week and we’ve watched her recover from brain tumor removal surgery and turn back into her energetic little self: singing quietly as she does crafts, babbling to herself, her sister and to me (oh how I WISH I could understand everything this precious girl says), dancing, and always requesting the purple paper and ALL the purple paint. But it was not until this trip to San Jose that I held her. Her mom was having a hard time getting the hang of buckling and unbuckling Madyson from her car seat, so I would step in and do it, then lift her from her seat to the ground. And in those moments, I was able to hold her for a brief moment and feel how she is in the process of becoming a big kid, but she still has some precious baby chub on her. Just like my Jacob. Holding her made me realize just how deeply my heart is in this and how much I want this little girl to be able to grow up, thrive, know how loved she is, and continue to shine her light of giggles, songs, and the love of purple. We’ve been waiting for news of a diagnosis of some kind, and praying with her family for a miracle. It’s hard to fully understand the diagnosis, but it sounds like the doctors have told Madyson’s mom that she has glioblastoma multiform. In my brief google search, I read that this disease gives adults 15 months to live once they’ve been diagnosed. I know that the devastation I feel about this is only a very small taste of what her mom and family feel. We will continue to pray with them and for Madyson and pray that we have wisdom to know how to be there for them in this time and how to help. One bright spot from this whole experience happened as we dropped Madyson and her mom off at the hospital on Monday in what Charlotte called a scary part of town. Charlotte’s little voice piped up from the backseat. “I want to be praying for Madyson,” she said. Okay, do you want to do that now? we asked. She nodded then prayed, simply, as only a child can, “Dear Jesus, I hope Madyson bes well. Amen.” ❤️ Amén and amén. Please continue to lift Madyson and her family up.
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