Tonight, after some good sword-fighting and after Isaiah did his physical therapy exercises, he went into the kitchen to drink his "chug" and work through a pile of pills. I walked in to check on him and heard him saying, "miles and miles and miles and miles and miles..."
I asked, "What's miles and miles and miles...?"
He answered, "That's how long until you're done with leukemia. I used to get sick and then I'd get better in one day. But that was before I had to go to the hospital. Now I have appointments and sleepy tests and pills and sometimes I visit overnight. And you know why I hate that? Because I don't get to play."
I tried to turn his little lament toward the positive, "Ya, but you're doing so well. You're getting stronger."
"I know," he agreed. "But it takes miles and miles and miles..."