6 weeks ago it was September. Now it’s October.

Football season was just beginning. Now it’s ending.

The leaves were green. Now they’re red.

Fall baseball was starting. Now it’s over.

Quinn was 9. Now she’s 10.

We were the new residents at Hope Lodge. Now we’re veterans.

We took our first photo at proton therapy. Now we’re about to take the last.

Is this phase really about to end? As scary as it was at first, it has now become our “norm.” It’s kind of embarrassing that 6 weeks of cancer therapy has become comfortable in an odd way. The blessing of lazy day routines, of sharing space with people who “get it,” of quiet, and of the physical distance between us and the stress of facing the things that have changed (and those that haven’t) back home.

As we unwind the events of the past 6 weeks and look toward the next, we require a debriefing of sorts before reentry back into our own lives.

In the medical world, we debrief after codes and traumas, so it feels appropriate here: (1) What are the facts—what went right, or not? (2) What are we feeling? Take a breath and feel the weight of what happened. (3) What does the future look like, and what can we improve?

The fact is, Jason went through thirty proton radiation treatments on his brain! That means thirty walks down Jacobson’s hallway. Thirty times lying on the hard, sterile treatment table. Thirty times being strapped into the mask. Thirty times hearing “we have the beam” before treatment started. Moreover, we (and I mean a BIG, collective “we”) managed our household from hundreds of miles away. We also now know our way around Rochester. And, if you know Jason, you know he has made some friends along the way. It sure seems like a lot went “right.”

The primary feeling today is gratitude. As I think back to how we got here, a long list of names scrolls through my mind like the closing credits of a movie. Just, wow! I’m sure Jason will hope to soon forget the taste of the plastic on his mouthpiece, but hopefully he never forgets the names and faces of the techs who got him in early on Fridays knowing he had a 7-hour drive back home. And, I hope to forget how lost we got the first time we tried to find Dr. Breen’s clinic in the Mayo maze, but I will always remember the strings Dr. Bennett, just a social media acquaintance, pulled to get us in that first day. I could go on. Sure, we also have waves of feeling sadness, grief, and insecurity, but those pass more quickly now and the roots of joy and thankfulness remain.

The future is still packed full of unknowns, but we have a little more confidence now. We made it through this, after all. And as we face the blessings and curses of re-entry back into “real life,” we also face the next phase of cancer treatment. Currently, the plan is 12 months of chemotherapy cycles back at home. This will come with new questions, new risks, new routines, new expenses, and new blessings.

In 6 weeks or 6 months, we’ll look back and likely have even more things to be amazed by, and thankful for.

“Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.”

Colossians 2:7