>There are words that no parent wants to hear. Dreaded words. Words that pierce your soul, and make you want to hurl epithets at the clear azure sky. Among these are: masses, lymph nodes, and referral. Within one day. To a hematogist-oncologist. For your child. Your only son. An 11 year-old boy, who not so long ago was healthy, happy, full of spit, vinegar, attitude. Now he’s not quite himself. And now you know why. You don’t say the word, because if you do that’ll make it real, true. You are angry, scared–life is unfair. All of a sudden you are Abraham, and your son is Isaac. But where is your ram? Yet, you have no place else to go. You are on your Moriah; none other has the words of life. So you wait. Wait and trust. I trust. That is all we have.