If she's worried, maybe I can give her a hug

Liz isn't feeling great today, mostly tired, generally blah. She has felt really well until the liver biopsy yesterday, which isn't as "quick and easy" as they told us at first. So after 8 hours yesterday at the hospital surgical center, she was cleared to come home. Who knows if it's the weight of reality, fatigue from the disease, exhaustion from the trip to Target with a very kind friend today in preparation for Monday's chemo start, or the fact that the docs cored a major organ with a gigantic sword needle yesterday. But I'm sad to see my strong, resilient wife devoid of energy. She's napping now and I'm writing about her, which I'm sure will make her, like, super excited.

It's crazy how fast all of this has gone. Just 2 weeks after the biopsy and attempt to "take care of the infection," Liz will start chemotherapy for a serious disease. The first diagnosis was devastating, the second diagnosis about the advanced stage of the cancer nearly ripped me apart, but somehow we have been able to absorb the information and cope with the next phase. We keep looking at each other and just emphasizing that we need to take the next step, just try one more thing, keep pushing forward. So far we're hanging in there. We also heard back from the University of Chicago oncologist we asked to consult on treatment, and the doc said that Liz's local oncologist is doing exactly the right thing for this first round of treatment. So throughout the bad news are moments of happiness. Like what just happened while I was typing: Jensen walked over to Cohen and said, "I love you." Then Cohen pushed him over. And both of them laughed.

Cohen knows what's going on.

We've only told him a few things so far (Mom has some bad cells in her body called cancer, it means some parts of her body are sick, we will have a lot of doctor visits to figure out how to get the good cells to fight the bad cells and help her feel better). But he's a self-described "eagle eye" and quite perceptive. He also tends to worry a lot and think about things, sometimes letting out his thoughts and feelings, often not. Such a smart and amazing boy (case in point: I taught him how to play chess yesterday, we played for the 2nd time today, and he totally snookered me out of my queen -- he is already thinking 3 moves ahead). And he has been eyeing me lately, quizzical about my presence on work and school days, and wondering why mom is taking it easy.

So I took Jensen and Cohen to the movie store to pick up a show for "movie night" with Dad and their wonderful Grandma. Jensen had me crank up the "church songs" and I noticed in the mirror that Cohen had his "pickle face" on, which is the easiest way to tell he's worried about something:

Me: What are you thinking about, Buddy?

C: Are you going to be here after church day tomorrow?

Me: You mean when you go to school on Monday?

C: Yes. Are you going to work or is your Spring Break early?

Me: I'm going to be at home. Mom is working with the doctors to help her feel better and fight the bad cells, and she needs to start some new medicine.

C: Will the medicine make her better next week?

Me: It will take a while, my son. She will be tired and probably won't feel well while the medicine works in her body. But we'll make sure that you have time to see her, and that we'll take care of everything for you while she's working on getting better.

C: Do you think she's worried, Dad?

Me: She might be. Feeling worried is OK, especially when people are sick. What do you think?

C: If she's worried, maybe I can give her a hug.

Me: Cohen, your hugs will definitely help her worries go away. I love you, man.

C: I love you too, Dad.

Well, Liz and I didn't plan to start the chemo conversation until tomorrow night. And good thing the mirror is small, so Cohen couldn't see my tears. But this is how his brilliant and sweet soul work: little by little, always concerned about how things impact him, but constantly thinking about how to make sure others feel happy. He is such a special and amazing boy. He healed our hearts, we've helped him through some big trials for a little man, and now perhaps it's time for him to help heal us again in an even bigger way. Along with his brothers, we have no choice but to smile and fight this disease for the long haul.

In case you were wondering, we got Bolt at Family Video for family movie night. Fitting dialogue I just heard, and in case you're wondering, I'M STARVING!

Bolt: The road'll be rough. 
Rhino: I have a ball. 
Bolt: There's no turnin' back. 
Rhino: Guess I'll have to "roll" with the punches!
Bolt: Easy won't be part of the equation... 
Rhino: Promise? 
Bolt: I gotta warn ya, going into the belly of the beast - danger at every turn. 
Rhino: I eat danger for breakfast! 
Bolt: You hungry? 
Rhino: Starving!