You don’t know all that, and you still sent over flowers to show that you’re happy for me
I’M writing this letter to thank you for the flowers you sent me for Shabbos. You were so happy when I shared with you that I’m expecting. You know my daughter is seven years old, so it’s a big simchah.
But you don’t know what an enormous simchah it is, or how much your gesture meant to me.
You don’t know that I went through five years of incredibly difficult treatments. You don’t know that I suffered month after month, my hopes rising and dashing like the numbers in my blood counts.
You don’t know how many treatments I had to endure, how many hospital visits and blood tests and ultrasounds I’ve done. I’d run to work feeling like I’d already been through a full day and paste on a smile, only to hear everyone complaining how hard it was to get all the kids out to school.
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