This is the word Henry used to describe how he felt about his older sister's Holiday concert at school.
I didn't even know he knew the word, let alone could spontaneously use it appropriately in a sentence.
His progress is remarkable. He feels the best that he's felt since before this all began. He's eating from four food groups (really, five, since Chick-Fil-A is it's own), sleeping all night, running, doing artwork, playing games, telling jokes. He wants to be with me, help me with my household duties, go places, meet new people, try new foods. He all but refuses to sit and watch TV - it's just too dull an activity.
I don't know this child.
At first, I resented it. It angered me, his beautiful and blossoming personality. This was something more that I would grow to love, and have to lose. Another piece of Henry that would be taken from me. Is it really better to have loved and lost?
I hope it is. I'm hopelessly in love with four year old Henry. I'm no longer angry, I'm grateful that I've gotten to know who he is now. This time with him is a time that I didn't expect to have. I expected the "palliative chemo" to help delay his headaches, his vomiting, his somnolence. I didn't in my wildest dreams expect it to give him back to me, whole.
I know it can't last. I know it won't. But I must say, I'm impwessed.