The most beautiful word in the world

Just spoke with Mom and Dad on the phone, and Mom reminded me that it was four weeks ago today that Dad went to the ER in London. Four hellish but hopeful, terrifying but comforting, panicky but boring, desperate but supported weeks. If there were ever a prime candidate for a study in the vast range of human emotion, the past month is it.

Dad has a lovely, spacious, private room in the hematology ward. It has big windows with a view of the Capitol dome and the mountains beyond. It's as if the hospital wanted him to see everything that is quintessentially Cheyenne every time he looks out the window. It's perfect.

Dad really likes his doctor, and he and Mom are very impressed with the physical therapists, as well. Mom says they're "very thorough." Oh, and he has a TV--something he never had in London. He's never been much of a TV watcher, but any extra option to cut the boredom is welcome.

Mom and Dad asked me to let you know that, as grateful as he is for your support, he really doesn't want visitors right now. I mean, jet lag is enough to flatten the healthiest of us--imagine having it on top of cancer! I'm impressed he knows his own name (actually, come to think of it, I didn't quiz him on that, so it's possible he doesn't)! Just kidding. He is very tired, though, and he and Mom have a lot of information to take in and decisions to make, so they ask for privacy while they do so. Feel free to keep the emails coming, though, and Mom will answer as she's able.

For now, I can tell you with complete certainty that "home" is the most beautiful word in the world for them right now, and they are both beyond overjoyed and relieved to be there. So you have no assignment today, Team Eric, except thoughts and prayers of thanks and relief. Tomorrow we'll roll up our sleeves and get back to work.

I love every single one of you.