The Memory

I was in my sister's neighborhood tonight so I stopped by to say hello to my nieces. Their house is right across the street from the neighborhood pool and as I pulled in I was hit with a vivid memory. Last summer all four Hogan siblings were in town (myself, two older sisters, and younger brother) and hanging out at that pool along with my mom and niece Hannah. Hannah was being a typical three year old goofing around in the water, more interested in messing with the fountains than doing any actual swimming. It was a special afternoon since everyone was in town together, but it was also very normal. It was also pre-cancer, pre-brain tumor, pre-having-your-world-shaken-to-its-core. It was this memory of Hannah playing at the pool that played over and over in my head during our first days in the hospital. We were just waiting for the results of each test and scan. Waiting to hear from each team of doctors after they had consulted with my sister and brother in law. Waiting to see what was to come for Hannah, our family, and our sense of any normalcy that could remain in the face of childhood cancer. It was this memory of the summer just a few short months before she got sick that I kept going back to. As I've written before, it was this afternoon that I wanted to rewind back to. I wanted our lives back before cancer. There was no going back.

I'm not sure why my panic and grief manifested itself in this memory. I have replayed the scenes from that afternoon and Hannah's innocence over and over again, so it was bizarre to see the pool just a few days from reopening for the season. Could it really be almost a year later already? Could it be that we survived the horrific fall and numbing winter? Could it be that we get to keep our Hannah and experience another summer like last year's?

Somehow life goes on. It is different, for better or worse. We have adjusted to our new normal, a normal where cancer is not so shocking anymore. But still a normal where we can enjoy afternoons at the pool surrounded by family and joy and laughter and all things simple and good. I welcome the opening of this tiny little pool and all that it symbolizes for our tiny little family: life, survival, resilience, strength in brokenness, honesty, gratitude, and our Hannah.