Call it the dramatic season end to a popular television show. A major plot point unfolds and just when you want to know what happens next … the credits roll and you have to wait four months to pick up with the story again. I know. That’s what I did to you all. When we last left our heroine, she received news that her tumor was shrinking and she was given leave to return home from a lengthy hospital stay.

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.

“You have to relax or you’ll never get this.” I nod, forcing a smile as best I can, my lips stretched across my tightly-clenched jaw. My lungs burn as I kneel forward onto my hands. My calves spasm, reminding me that about a year has passed since I last exercised. The author takes time from falling to pose for a portrait. I look up to see Dean, my snowboarding instructor, stepping out of his bindings and walking towards me.

Jeanette and I escaped for most of the weekend. We checked in to a hotel and did absolutely nothing – other than lounge around the pool deck, read magazines and sip cool cocktails. Jordan got an escape of her own. She spent the night at her grandparents and partied in their hot tub. Grandma did a good job of pampering her. She was smiling wildly by the time I saw her Sunday afternoon.

I’m not going to lie to you. Lately I’ve had a lot of anger issues. It’s not that I run around screaming at people or bashing walls with blunt objects. It’s a slow, teeming displeasure that errupts in outbursts of visible frustration. The crux of the problem, the god particle of the issue, the kernel that explodes every time is resentment about the unfairness of it all. It isn’t how unfair it is to me, nor the imposition of illness.