The end of a very long day.

I slept very hard last night.

And the end of Groundhog Day, Rita teases Phil for having slept through their night together. "It was the end of a VERY long day," he tells her.

After I got the news yesterday, I sat and sobbed. Sobbed with relief, with joy. Sobbed in way I hadn't since before April 10.

It was a very long day, from then til now.

It's no guarantee. But for three months, we won't be going to the hospital. Won't be going for blood counts, tests, chemo, appointments. Three months of freedom. Three months of making plans for the future.

What can you do in three months?

Well, like the old ad slogan, we're going to Disney World. In April, Make-a-Wish is sending Little Warrior and all the rest of us, to stay for one week at Give Kids the World, loading us up on tickets for 4 Disney parks, 2 Universal parks and Seaworld. A child's dream whirlwind holiday.

I need to get in the habit of making a quick explanation; let me do it now: Make-A-Wish is not just for terminal children, it's for children with a life-threatening disease.

I was telling a friend of ours at church about our Wish trip, and he was without words, almost gasping. I realized, and trotted out that explanation. He smiled with relief. And excused himself to the restroom.

Three months of freedom, real freedom, means the end of this phase. The long day is over. Cancer may return to our lives, but it would be another day.

Last night, we danced in the living room. I'm still dancing.

Tomorrow, we return to the hospital, for our followup appointment. We return, with smiles. Oh, and of course, for those who are still fighting this beast ... we'll return with cupcakes. Dozens and dozens. So please excuse me. Little Warrior and I have got some bakin' to do.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day