We had to push the cart uphill. The nearest handicap space at our local market sat atop a slight incline. As we approached it, I asked Jordan if she wanted me to take over.

“No, Dad. I can do it,” she said.

And she did.

I misjudge the strength required and lift her onto my back indelicately. Her chest lands with a thud, and she exhales forcefully into my left ear.

“Sorry about that, J.”

“No problem, Dad. It didn’t hurt at all.”

She adjusts balance on my back, and I reach behind to lock my hands under her rump for support. We use this piggy-back position when we are going short distances and wish to leave the wheelchair behind. It’s easier on everyone and I think Jordan likes traveling this way. To be honest, I like it, too.

While I was in New York last week I spoke at a fundraising event hosted by my friend and mentor, Alan Siegel. It benefited the The Pablove Foundation‘s Shutterbugs program—a photography workshop for children living with cancer, of which Jordan was an inaugural student back in 2011. I’ve written about the Pablove Shutterbugs Show and the impact it had on the Slayer. One of my goals last Thursday was to demonstrate that impact for the room of potential supporters. But as I prepared for the event I reflected on the role photography has played throughout Jordan’s Journey.

A heroic weekend for Jordan and our family makes us reflect on what it means to be a cancer hero, and how the word “losing” is terribly misused.

I would call it a passive summer. There were no major milestones; no setbacks. It was as if we put our lives in neutral, reclined the seat, and napped for awhile with our hats over our eyes all-the-while keeping the engine running, just in case. My superstitious side grows restless when we enjoy a spell like this. I wonder if it is the universe’s way of preparing us for the next mile. But then I counsel my fears to stop being silly and relish the fact that The Slayer is well and she and I have enjoyed/endured a season of terrific normality.