The life of a bright and beautiful little girl has been cut off by harsh, toxic cancer treatments. She had leukemia. She died of a heart attack. She was seven years old.

Emily, my favorite was when you didn’t feel like doing your school work with the home tutor, so you put dots all over your face with a red magic marker and said you had the chicken pox. I also liked when you wore glasses and drank tea and looked impossibly mature yet charmingly mischievous.

You, Emily, let true colors show and they were indeed beautiful like a rainbow. Those of you who grieve with me will know what that means. Deb, you captured each delicate moment with admirable enthusiasm, lamentable honesty and brilliant wit. I love you and thank you for this.

Today, I also grieve my own son’s loss of childhood. The blood transfusion perked him up a bit, but today he is sick and forlorn on the couch again.

I looked one of Justin’s doctors in the eye Friday and asked him why he is suddenly not doing well. He could not answer. Only that Justin’s blood will be checked again Wednesday.

I fear relapse. I fear liver damage. I fear relapse more.

I wait. And I grieve.

These are only children.

I paste a smile on my face for my boys. But when I am alone, I am grieved.

My only comfort is knowing that God is with me and that He is beside Justin and that He holds Emily, whole and well and shining, in His arms.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16‭-‬18