My baby sister (who's not actually the baby anymore, but I can't help but think of her that way) is being prepped for surgery. The surgery. The transplant she fought for when all the odds were stacked against her.
She's excited and hopeful. Her donor and his wife are excited and hopeful with a good heaping of nervous. The rest of us still can't believe it's actually happening.
If you'd asked me just six months ago if Ashley would be getting her transplant just five short months from our first big fundraiser, I would've laughed in your face. I would've rolled my eyes and secretly seethed at your naivete.
I've found that my nerves can't handle people who think things magically happen, people who say things like, "God won't let that happen" or "In His time, not ours" or "If He brings you to it, He'll bring you through it."
Maybe He will. I mean, yes, He will, and He has. But he didn't do it without the blood, sweat, and tears of a team of hard working men and women from across the globe. He is bringing us through it on the backs of flesh-and-blood friends and family and strangers who feel like family.
And so, tomorrow. A girl gets to make a five-year plan. A boy fulfills a spiritual mission that feels ordained. The stars are aligning and three separate families are coming together to move the molehill that started out as a mountain.
I just want to thank each and every "virtual friend" who donated to Ashley's medical fund, bought a tee shirt, sent up a prayer, or reached out with a kind word. Life is spinning further and further away from calm, so I'm not here as often as I'd like, but I'm paying attention and so is she.
In twelve hours, my sister gets a new lease on life. There aren't words to express our gratitude. I have to settle for, simply, thank you.