This past weekend was our little guy’s 4th birthday. It was his golden birthday (four on the 4th), and it was a pretty epic celebration. Trampoline parks may be the greatest innovation in kids play activities to date. Anyway, the night before his actual day, I got a little emotional thinking about all he’s been through already in his short life and how he’s doing so great now.

So here’s what he IS: a spitfire who doesn’t take crap from anyone; a sweet, curly-haired boy who would always rather sit on my lap than in the open chair directly adjacent to me; a smarty-pants who is taking to preschool like a champ; a ravenous eater of noodles and toast; a hard-headed and emotional human person who is quick with tears or a smile, depending on the circumstances; a confident old soul who speaks as well with adults as he does kids his own age, when he feels like it; a sometimes-Spider-Man.

Here’s what he’s not: a kid with cancer. Not anymore. He’ll still be in the maintenance phase until August 2024, but there haven’t been any cancer cells present in a long time now. The disease was awful and would’ve killed him if he hadn’t started aggressive treatment right away. But the treatment process hasn’t been a picnic. We’re so grateful for science and know we are so lucky that scientists and doctors were able to learn from millions of sick kids who came before ours on how to treat this type of cancer most effectively. It was just so scary seeing the changes in his little body caused by various types of chemo, and treatment lasts SO LONG.

We had gotten into the habit of thinking of him as a cancer kid – precious, delicate, one dimensional. We have spent a year and a half being afraid of viruses and runny noses. Anxiety has been running high, all surrounding his health, with the feeling that we were walking a razor’s edge between normal life and a hospital stay. More than once, we chose to stay home from social things or to go home early because we weren’t sure he could handle whatever we were doing. Nowadays, I see kids littler than he is staying out late at social gatherings in the neighborhood, and I wonder about the calculations we made, if we could’ve been riskier and let him stay out later or do more, and how that would’ve changed our feelings about the last few months.

But he’s so tough, even with every other big emotion he feels and doesn’t bother to hide. He’s resilient in a way I wish kids didn’t need to ever be. Being lulled into thinking these kids are delicate and need protection is tempting for parents, allowing us to place ourselves higher on the scale of importance. But this is a mistake. He’s so much more than that, and we’re so freaking proud.