Hyrum's Diagnosis and The Miracle of the Last Day

Hyrum's brain cancer is a diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma (DIPG). There is no known treatment that can cure it. With radiation and a clinical trial, we may have another 9 months with him. Anything more is a miracle.

When I found out about Hyrum's diagnosis, it leveled me. I asked the nurses to find me an empty room, and I sobbed on the tiny bed. If you ever wondered why movies pan away and insert emotive music when a character cries like that, it's because it does NOT sound good. 

I couldn't stand. I couldn't feel my fingers, toes, or ears. The information that I had about his diagnosis, coupled with Hyrum's unprompted comments about returning to God, left me struggling with what to pray for. I knew in my heart that I couldn't ask God to give Hyrum a long life. 

The next two days were full of doctor visits and hospital life. As I entered and exited elevators, shuttling between the hospital and home, there was a literal, physical force carrying me. I know how my body works and how it feels, and it wasn't my energy carrying me through those days. I walked by the power of prayer - hundreds and thousands given in our behalf. We are grateful for each of you who contributed to that.

Four nights later, we were home with Hyrum, counting his breaths while he slept. Radiation still had not begun, and we were acutely aware that anything could happen. There in the darkness, Michael felt a strong urge from heaven that he should give Hyrum a priesthood blessing.  

Words came. We held each other in the night. Suddenly, I knew what miracle I would ask for: one more day.

The next day was Sunday, and we lived it like his last. We shared our meals, reminisced, and colored with gel pens. We took the sacrament at home, built with blocks, and shared feelings of faith. We expressed love, apologized, and walked the block collecting leaves. We asked good questions, took recordings, and gave hugs. It was a peaceful, perfect-enough day. 

That night, after all the kids were asleep, it hit me: the miracle was twice what I expected. Not only did I have one more day with Hyrum (and every day since then), but I would always have it there as my "Last Day". No more pressure to create perfect last moments. No fear of leaving something unsaid. No frantic planning. No regrets. 

The real miracle is that now I'm free to live and love every extra, normal day we have with Hyrum, with all the ups and downs that each will bring. Some are heavy. Some hurt a lot. Others glide along softly, like our life before cancer. We will take every day we can get.