Real Pants

It’s an amazing feeling to be able to start and end this post with good news.

First, Tate has a job! I walked into his room one morning and found him working on his computer. A weird thing since it’s summer and he isn’t taking any classes. I asked him what he was doing, and he said “Applying for jobs.” It wasn’t so much what he said that had my heart soaring as it was the the determined expression on his face. It was almost a challenge, a look that said, “Mom, I dare you to tell me not to do this. I dare you.”

The day of his interview, Greg commented that Tate looked really good but that he couldn’t quite figure out why. I said, “Real pants!” Greg gave me a confused look, and I said, “He’s wearing real pants, not pajamas.” Through no fault of his own, the kid has barely gotten dressed for three years. Literally, three years.

Tate has been working as a cashier at Smash Burger for the last two weeks, and he is teaching cello lessons to a junior high student. I watched him back out of the driveway and drive off to work the other day, and I was jumble of pride at his ambition and terror at his driving skills. It hit me that for the first time in years, I got to have a “regular mom worry” instead of the constant, agonizing concerns that have kept me awake and consumed all my energy since his Leukemia diagnosis.

Tate has been fighting Leukemia for so long that his friends went to their senior year of high school and completed their 2-year LDS missions. Our neighbors across the street have had two babies! Life keeps going all around except, it seems, in Tate’s room. That’s why the reappearance of denim was such a big deal. Tate is beginning to move on.

Tate’s oncology exam and chemotherapy on Tuesday was uneventful. His ANC is right where it’s supposed to be, and he held up his end of the bargain and gained some weight so he doesn’t have to take an increased dose of appetite stimulants. He’s up to 149 pounds and looking really good.

Scott is moving to Colorado Springs next week and has made a point to hang out with Tate after this round of chemotherapy. I don’t think Tate liked me interrupting precious time with his big brother, but he mustered a smile before kicking me out of his room. Ha! Tate is one of a kind, for sure.

Tate only has THREE treatments left! Three years down, three treatments to go. He will be done at the end of September, and I’ll provide the specific date when I’m sure I have it right. This is going to be a momentous day for our whole family and dear friends who have traveled this journey with him. With us. I feel a celebration of sorts is in order, but I ask that Tate be allowed to recover from that last bout of chemotherapy so he can enjoy all our smiling faces.

No flowers this week or last! I guess the overall happy feeling we’re having is bringing us all the cheer we need.