Coping when your child has Cancer

  

Caution: Fragmented thoughts

Last week I cried in a complete strangers arms. I had gone to cancel my gym membership to save money, she asked the reason for the cancellation. I told her my son has cancer, I saw her eyes well up at my pain, and I choked up, and found my self in the embrace of a complete stranger.

This is a nightmare. I keep waiting for someone to nudge me, to wake me up, tell me I am having a bad dream.

When at the toy store with Rowan last week, I had an epiphany. As we walked around, I saw all of these people smiling and laughing. It upset me. I wanted to scream… “Why are you laughing and smiling, don’t you know my baby has cancer!!!”

Yes, my story may sadden you, may cause a moment of pause and reflection in your day. But, your days go on, you can donate, blog, and say a prayer….but your lives go on.

Only our world has screeched to a halt. The sky is only falling over my house.

I look for answers, where there are none. I want to blame something, only there is nothing to blame. So my questions go unanswered.

Around 3,500 kids are diagnosed with leukemia a year. That number is tiny, a grain of sand on the beach. Why my sweet little boy? Why do children even get cancer? Its just not right.    

When the first Dr. mentioned leukemia, I got nauseous. I thought I was going to throw up. Leukemia,…. it even sounds like vomit.

Every time I would read a sad story on the web about another parents heart ache over a sick or lost child, I would count my blessings. Thankful, it was not me. For I knew that if it was me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. It would cause me too much heart ache and pain, and my bipolar disorder would eat me alive.

Here I am though, trudging through it, remaining strong. You have to. You have no other choice.

So to cope, I cry.

I cry a lot.

I cry when I peek in on Ezra and see him sleeping so soundly, so innocently.

I cry when he screams “NO!”.

I cry when Rowan acts out, because I know it is causing him pain too.

I cry when Ezra cries on the way to the hospital, because he recognizes the route.

I cry when someone offers me condolence.

I cry laying in bed at night, alone with my thoughts.

I cry because my mind wanders where its shouldn’t.

I cry at the compassion of complete strangers.

I cry for the loss of Ezra’s early childhood.

I cry when I think too far ahead.

I cry at the unfairness of it all.

I cry because my husband is the most amazing man ever.

I cry because none of our lives will ever be normal again.

I cry because Ezra doesn’t understand why we keep letting people hurt him.

I cry because I can count on one hand how many times I have seen him smile in the last week.

I cry for the loss of all of our freedom.

I cry for the loss of his laughter.

I cry because I can’t make it better with a kiss and a band-aid.

I cry when I see Ezra walk, his bones so stiff.

I cry because there is an enormous elephant in my room.

I cry because I don’t have the answers.

I cry for his curls.

I cry because I don’t think my house is safe or clean enough.

I cry because the world has become a scary germ infested place that could kill my son.

I cry for the loss of all control.

I cry because I am tired.

I cry.

The crying has tapered off now, since the initial shock is over. I am slowly putting the pieces of myself back together.

I know it will become easier for all of us, as this becomes our new normal.

You never know what you are truly capable of, until it is thrown at you. I have amazed myself.

We will be strong, and we will conquer cancer.