Today’s a normal Thursday. The sun came up. Coffee brewed. People went to work. Some kids went to camp. Life kept moving exactly as it always does.

Except on this Thursday, my dad has cancer.

Yesterday, cancer was something that happened to other friends and families. Today, it’s part of ours.

This Thursday, I’m doing okay.

For years now, I’ve been mentally preparing for the death of my parents. They are both in their 70s and people don’t live as long as they used to. To some, that may sound morbid, but it’s inevitable. Even in my 40s, I’ve told my daughter that I’ve been getting my affairs in order so she doesn’t have to do much except decide what of mine she wants to keep and the rest will be donated.

The strange thing about learning your Dad has cancer is that it doesn’t always hit you all at once. It comes in waves. One minute you’re making dinner or folding laundry, and the next you’re staring into space because you remembered. Your chest tightens. Your mind races. Then, just as quickly, life calls you back to whatever you were doing. I imagine that’s how this entire journey will be.

As I’ve been processing everything, I keep hearing my dad’s voice in my head.

“A good soldier always looks forward, and you’re a good soldier, Bub.”

He’s said those words to me more times than I can count. After disappointments, heartbreak or when life didn’t go according to plan. He has always believed that no matter what was behind me, I should keep my eyes on what was ahead.

Today, those words feel different. For the first time, I realize they’re not just words he gave to me. They’re words I get to give back to him.

A good soldier always looks forward. Not because the road isn’t scary or because there won’t be difficult days. Not because pretending everything is okay somehow makes it okay.

A good soldier looks forward because that’s the only direction hope can be found.

So today, and every day, we’re choosing to look forward: to the next appointment, the treatment plan and most importantly, to the victories, no matter how small they may seem.

I don’t know what the coming months will hold. If I’m honest, that uncertainty is one of the hardest parts. But I do know this. God’s got this! There is a huge sense of peace that comes from knowing I can give all my fears and worries over to him. Plus, cancer has never taken a member of our family. We’re fighters. Dad’s got this!

And on this Thursday, and every Thursday that follows, we’ll keep moving.

Because a good soldier always looks forward.

Love. Give. Live.