We hinted at it before, but now it’s official. Jordan’s latest MRI scan shows a demonstrable reduction in the base tumor. We’ve been celebrating all morning.

Dear Grandchild: When your mother was little, she listened to Chopin while she slept at night. She’d say how she loved the quiet sound of the piano. Sometimes, I’d peek in on her after she’d fallen asleep. She looked so beautiful resting amongst her pink and purple sheets. She had soft, cream-kissed skin and flaxen-streaked hair. Cuddled up under her covers, arms strecthed out across her pillow, she reminded me of a water-colored illustration from a children’s book – too picturesque to be real.

“What’s my time again, Dad?” Lucas kept his eye on the pool, his swim cap a wee bit big for his head. It scrunched his eyebrows into an involuntary look of perplexity. “1:15:24,” I replied. “Remember to ask the timers how you did when you pull out of the water.” He nodded, still watching the current competitors as they finished their final strokes and tagged the wall. The PA announced his heat.

There was fanfare. There was ballyhoo. It was our own undertaking of “Make a Wish” … sort of. Last weekend, Jordan, Jeanette and I indulged in a Manhattan retreat while Luc happily slept over with friends. The trip was planned for more than a year. Under normal circumstances, it would have just been me and Jordan. I often bring one of the kids along on my business travels. They enjoy spending the time alone with me and it’s usually easy to book a sitter in my regular travel circuit.

Exhaustion got the best of her. Two days at the hospital in the same week. The pace of treatment and logistics and unknowing sapped all her energy. When the alarm sounded at 6am, nearly five minutes passed before Jeanette slapped the snooze. I was away, and my wife was tired. Luc woke before dawn. The act of waking early makes him proud. He climbed down from his bunk and dressed as the sun peaked over the San Gabriels to the east.