It’s MY cancer, not hers.

It’s my cancer, not hers.

I wish she could understand that, but I know deep down that this story is not just mine but that it belongs to my children, too. That this is theirs just as much as it is mine.

We ran head-first into an unexpected trial of a “cancer parent” tonight. I’m not much of a cryer and wasn’t expecting to cry tonight but I write this as tears flow steadily down my cheeks.

Brit just had a complete breakdown because she’s going back to school tomorrow after Thanksgiving break and she’s going to miss me. Well, that’s where it started.

If you know me well, you know that I have severe separation anxiety from the kids. Absolutely and without a doubt in my mind a side effect of my trying to reconcile having to leave them – in the form of death – just a few short years ago. I’m still plagued by nightmares of them calling for me but I can’t get to them. And my anxiety grips me each and every time they’re away from me. Regardless of the circumstance. I joke “yes please take them! They’re driving me crazy!” (Which, to be fair, they are) But the jokes are simply a cover for the fact that I’m miserable and worry-stricken every single moment we are apart. They don’t know I struggle with this EVERY DAY and I’m not planning on making it an issue for them ever! But while Evan can, for the most part, go off and enjoy his independence and then come back and let me know he missed me and tell me all about his adventures, Brit is just not quite like that and it kills me to see her broken down at the thought of us being apart tomorrow. This is may just be your classic “nature vs. nurture” psychology sort of issue (is this her natural personality to be anxious and worried or did she develop that because most of her life has been marred with the threat of losing her mom? Or hey, let’s be honest, did she just learn these habits from me?). All possibilities seem plausible when you dwell in them long enough.

Today, I had to go to the doctor for a flu shot and when he looked in my right ear and asked me why it looked the way it did, Brit chimed in that it’s “because Mommy has cancer”. She was matter-of-fact and unemotional, it didn’t seem to phase her, it was just a fact. But I cringed so hard because as much as you try to protect your kids from these realities, they still know and understand. And it’s really hard to watch how MY cancer has affected them. It wasn’t supposed to. It was supposed to me mine! But here we are. Just since I’ve sat down to write this, she has come out 3 separate times just to make sure I was ok and that I am still here.

And, update, now I sit on the edge of her bed writing this as she drifts off because she wanted to be able to see me. She had to know I was there.

This wasn’t supposed to be her burden, but as they grow I am beginning to see how all of this is shaping their story too.

And I feel so guilty.

Snapchat was the only thing that calmed her down a few minutes ago. I’m thanking God for His provision, for health, for my still being here with my children, and for His steady hand holding me in the moments where I can’t actually take any more.

It’s MY cancer, not hers.

It’s my cancer, not hers.

I wish she could understand that, but I know deep down that this story is not just mine but that it belongs to my children, too. That this is theirs just as much as it is mine.

We ran head-first into an unexpected trial of a “cancer parent” tonight. I’m not much of a cryer and wasn’t expecting to cry tonight but I write this as tears flow steadily down my cheeks.

Brit just had a complete breakdown because she’s going back to school tomorrow after Thanksgiving break and she’s going to miss me. Well, that’s where it started.

If you know me well, you know that I have severe separation anxiety from the kids. Absolutely and without a doubt in my mind a side effect of my trying to reconcile having to leave them – in the form of death – just a few short years ago. I’m still plagued by nightmares of them calling for me but I can’t get to them. And my anxiety grips me each and every time they’re away from me. Regardless of the circumstance. I joke “yes please take them! They’re driving me crazy!” (Which, to be fair, they are) But the jokes are simply a cover for the fact that I’m miserable and worry-stricken every single moment we are apart. They don’t know I struggle with this EVERY DAY and I’m not planning on making it an issue for them ever! But while Evan can, for the most part, go off and enjoy his independence and then come back and let me know he missed me and tell me all about his adventures, Brit is just not quite like that and it kills me to see her broken down at the thought of us being apart tomorrow. This is may just be your classic “nature vs. nurture” psychology sort of issue (is this her natural personality to be anxious and worried or did she develop that because most of her life has been marred with the threat of losing her mom? Or hey, let’s be honest, did she just learn these habits from me?). All possibilities seem plausible when you dwell in them long enough.

Today, I had to go to the doctor for a flu shot and when he looked in my right ear and asked me why it looked the way it did, Brit chimed in that it’s “because Mommy has cancer”. She was matter-of-fact and unemotional, it didn’t seem to phase her, it was just a fact. But I cringed so hard because as much as you try to protect your kids from these realities, they still know and understand. And it’s really hard to watch how MY cancer has affected them. It wasn’t supposed to. It was supposed to be mine! But here we are. Just since I’ve sat down to write this, she has come out 3 separate times just to make sure I was ok and that I am still here.

And, update, now I sit on the edge of her bed writing this as she drifts off because she wanted to be able to see me. She had to know I was there.

This wasn’t supposed to be her burden, but as they grow I am beginning to see how all of this is shaping their story too.

And I feel so guilty.

Snapchat was the only thing that calmed her down a few minutes ago. I’m thanking God for His provision, for health, for my still being here with my children, and for His steady hand holding me in the moments where I can’t actually take any more.

But What If

“But what if you are sick?!” She questioned, bottom lip quivering, with all of the composure a 4 year old can muster.  My mind raced with all the intricacies of cancer and how best to soften that blow for a child.  Teary-eyed, I explained to her that if that was the case, that God would take care of us.

But she didn’t want to hear that.  She wanted to hear that Mommy was ok and that Mommy wasn’t sick.  My little girl, who is usually an eager sleeper, refused to go to bed because she knew when she went to sleep that when she woke up I wouldn’t be there.  

So much for routine scans!  “Routine scans” are a mysterious blessing not afforded to all cancer patients and not guaranteed to us at any point.  There was a time in my cancer journey that those words, “routine scans”, sounded like a pipe dream.  Literally something that just wasn’t for me because my time had come and gone.  I always feel great until the night before scans.  And even then, the bad feelings are usually reserved for just me.  But tonight, my daughter caught wind of something that she never really fully understood before.  Yes, Mommy was sick through most of her life but from what she can remember, Mommy has always been there.  Tonight as I laid her down for bed, she wrestled with the fact that I wouldn’t be there when she woke up.

“Mommy just needs to go to the doctor for the day so they can tell me I’m not sick!”  I told her.  She seemed relieved at first, until she thought about it more.  But what if…

Our son is almost 7 and he has always just sort of understood all of this.  Not that it hasn’t been hard on him, but he always took it in stride and seemed to understand.  He didn’t like when I wasn’t there but he got it.  This is the first time Brit has asked so many questions and she just is not ok with the answers.  And I don’t blame her, I just wasn’t ready for this tonight.

Tonight as I was laying with her while she fell asleep (something she begged me for tonight, and never does this) she kept trying to figure out ways, through tear-soaked cheeks that she would get through tomorrow.  She finally said, “Ok Mommy, I will sleep as late as I can then pretend you are at the store and will be home at dinner.  Mommy, promise me you will be home by dinner!”

Of course I can’t promise any such thing, but I see my broken-hearted child before me.  Faced, for the first time in her life, with the understanding that Mommy may not always be there.  And so I try to assure her, with as much confidence as I can muster, that I will do my absolute best to be home for dinner tomorrow.  

My son comes out of his room, curious as to why his sister is crying.  And I have to tell him that he needs to be there for her tomorrow and things will be different but that he can make sure she’s ok.  On the surface, I’m only talking about tomorrow.  But in my heart, I know I’m talking much longer term.

What if?  Well, if something shows up, then I will try my best to be here.  And if I can’t, I need him to step in and help her when I can’t.  It’s symbolic and it’s heavy and it’s real.  I have scans tomorrow and they may be just fine.  But what if…

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An Open Letter to the Woman Who Wrote to Dillard’s

To the Woman Who Wrote to the Salesperson at Dillard’s (here is the article if you haven’t heard yet):

Thank you!  Your post has shown me what great parenting of a young lady looks like.  My daughter is only 3, but I already fear for her self image as she gets older as we all know how even the most confident girls can get stuck in the trap of self hatred.  I saw your post and thought, “Wow, her reaction was perfect.  I hope I can be that for my daughter.”  I’m not really commenting on the fact that the woman tried to sell spanx, that’s her job, but more that you showed what a level-headed and grounded parent you are to build your daughter (who is beautiful, by the way) up in such a healthy way rejecting the notion that a 17 year old would ever need shapewear. 

You see, it’s very easy for me to build my daughter up, in my eyes she is as perfect as they come!  And I think all of us would say that about our girls.  But what does she hear me say about myself that will sink into her subconscious and make her learn to hate herself?  It’s that thought that struck me hard this morning as I read your letter.  I thank you for posting this so that all of us mothers can realize how powerful our words about ourselves can be to their already-fragile self-esteem.

To every young girl out there, listen up: you hate the way you look?  Trust me on this, you will look back at pictures of yourself now in 10-15 years and think, “Wow, I was crazy for spending so much time hating myself and worrying what I looked like!  I look great and wouldn’t mind looking like that again!”  It’s all about perspective.  In fact, I think it would do us all some good to stop thinking about ourselves so much entirely! 

I’ve worked with youth at church for about 8 years now, and I’ve heard these beautiful young women completely tear themselves apart.  Too fat, too skinny, boobs too big, boobs too small, butt too big, butt too small, scrawny arms, flabby arms, fat feet, bony feet, everything you can imagine.  And every time I hear it, I just shake my head because, well, they look completely perfect to me.  So I appreciate your reminder that we were created by God.  A God with a plan for us, each of us individually created with a specific purpose.  And each of us beautiful.

Mamas, this is where we come in!  We have got to stop teaching our girls to pick themselves apart or fall into the trap of self-loathing.  And here’s the thing, I’m not campaigning for a global initiative to stop this nonsense, no I’m looking at every mother of every little girl out there and saying it starts with us.  They see us doing this to ourselves, and trust me I’m as guilty as they come!  They hear us mumbling about how much we will have to work out after eating some mac and cheese, they see our look of disgust when we are checking to see if the jeans make our butts look big.  This unhealthy mindset starts with us and I’m so glad this mom spoke up and said something to this sales clerk because it showed me that, ok maybe Hollywood sells us unhealthy ideals, but maybe I’m actually helping to promote that mindset in my child by the way I speak about myself.

So I’m going to start making a conscious effort from this moment on, that my daughter will not hear me speak disparagingly about myself.  I will not fall into the trap of picking myself apart so that she too doesn’t look into the mirror only to decide what she hates about herself that day.  I will make a conscious effort to live a healthy lifestyle and lead by example in that respect, but to also be a good example of a balanced mindset.  I will bake cookies with her without lamenting how they “are going straight my thighs” and will resist the urge to say, “ugh now I have to skip dinner” or something of the like after enjoying one with her.  I will encourage her to find physical activity she enjoys and feels good at, not force her to exercise or get “in shape”.  I will (try to) be a healthy influence on her.

She's perfect!

As much as we would like to blame advertising companies for our daughters’ poor self-esteem, maybe we need to look in the mirror first.  That is, if we can do it without picking ourselves apart the whole time…

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Christmas Giving for Kids

I was given a great idea and some great suggestions for a fun thing to do for the kids this month, in honor of of the “Christmas Spirit”, of course. I had heard about “Kindness Elves”, a fun alternative to the creepy Elf on a Shelf, so my mom gave me these penguins and I used some ideas I had and some awesome suggestions from you guys, to make this Christmas season a time of giving for my kids, and not at all about what they’ll be getting.

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Our four year old son told me at 7pm, after he opened the present from the penguins, that he wanted to go to bed right now because he wanted to wake up and find the penguins! Too cute. This could get really fun and, because I’m who I am, really meaningful. I mean, who doesn’t want their kids to realize that giving is ultimately where fulfillment and purpose are? James tells us that “faith without deeds is dead”. That’s a very strong statement, but I believe is true. We are known by our fruit, by how we’ve shown love, and I want my kids to realize as soon as possible that they are not the only people in the world; that they are usable instruments of God; that they, at any age, can make a difference.

I love being a mom. I figure as long as my kids accept Jesus Christ as their savior and are potty trained that there is literally nothing that they cannot face. Maybe these silly penguins will help bring them there ❤

Parenting and Cancer: Two Hard Things That Are Harder Together

Evan, our 4 year old, asked me the other day if I was still sick. It made me sick to my stomach when he asked me that, seemingly out of nowhere. And he will occasionally mention the time that he saw me in the middle of a grand mal seizure. Kids are oblivious to a lot of things but are also super perceptive and sensitive to other things, or even different parts of the same thing. This makes parenting as a cancer patient a little hard to navigate sometimes.

Usually I can speak about my cancer and approach the fact that I’m considered terminal pretty confidently as my hope and assurance rests in God and He is actively sustaining me every day. It’s easy to talk about, almost to the point where it feels normal sometimes, casual even. I mean, living with cancer is still living after all, and my day to day life doesn’t look probably all that different or more weird than anyone else’s, well, some parts at least haha. But when it comes to my kids, ugh, I have such a mental disconnect there. It’s all easy until the paths of my cancer and my kids cross. I try to keep them wholly separate, but that’s not always possible, like when my son asks if I’m still sick. That’s where I feel sad, desperate, and like I don’t have this as much under control as I like to think.

I mean, so much has changed in the past year, just so much. Still hard to believe, but I’m more and more able to wrap my head around it as these permanent changes are just becoming normal life now. Something that struck me as I was reminiscing (I do that way too much), is that the anniversary of my diagnosis, October 24th falls right directly in the middle of our kids’ birthdays, Brit turned 2 on October 15th and Evan turned 4 this past Monday, November 3rd. That means that half of our daughter’s life and a quarter of our son’s life has had the dark cloud of Mommy’s cancer hanging over it.

There was desperation when I was first diagnosed and lots of changes that absolutely affected the kids. For one, Mommy doesn’t look the same and she sure can’t do all of the things she did before. Surgery specifically was a really long and hard recovery where I didn’t feel like I could do all the things that I would have liked to as a mother. And now with this arthritis in my spine from the chemo, well, let’s just say it’s an issue sometimes. Mommy goes to the doctor a lot and Mommy is tired quite often. Through radiation, surgery, seizures, chemo, all of that junk that has limited me physically, I do feel bad on some level for my kids that they don’t have the mom that they should or that they deserve.

But physical demands of parenting aside, I do believe this experience has made me a better mommy in some ways. I have so enjoyed the intentional loving bonding time we have had. I know everyone says to cherish every moment with your kids because they grow up too fast, and while this is so true, my issue is that I want to squeeze every last drop of worth out of every moment so that they know in their hearts how much I love them. And that even if Mommy goes to heaven soon, that it was never my desire to leave them ever. I need them to understand what Christ did for us and why He had to do it and that I’ll see them again someday if they choose the narrow path. And, the deepest cry of my heart, as selfish as this may sound, is that I want them to remember me. I cry as I write this because, well, Brit just turned 2 and who knows what my timeline is going to look like, but God hears my cries and knows my heart and I believe He will allow this for me. This is about as close to despair as I’ve ever been. It’s a sense of loss, a sense of grief, and a very real sadness when I think of all the things that, without continued miraculous intervention, I will miss out on. Stories at night, little sicknesses here and there, silly dances and jokes, prayers and devotions, baptisms, sports games, report cards, driver’s licenses, weddings, etc. I feel a sense of loss for all of these things.

But if cancer has taught me anything, it is definitely to live with intention. Everything is an opportunity and every day can have meaning if we are open to allowing that. God has shown me, through the privilege of having my babies, just a glimpse of how He loves us and that motivates me to do the best I can while I’m still here to do it.

This year will be different. I’m determined to make 2 and 4 better for the kids than their last year was. I know that I can’t protect them from everything and I know that the suffering that they will inevitably face in their lives will produce endurance, character, and perseverance, as Paul reminds us in Romans. I just don’t want a single second of that suffering to be because of me. I know that’s not in my control, but as a mother, that’s how I feel. I pray that they on some level understand that Mommy is doing her best and will fight, as hard as I can and as long as I can, to stay with them. I hate these times where my cancer and my kids’ paths intersect a little, but at least it’s reminded me that I need to be present while I’m still here.

I read on a reputable cancer site that once brain mets are shown in melanoma, that the typical prognosis is 4-5 months. That was 6 months ago. I’m still here and I’m not going down without a fight, I have just too much to stay for.

“Have you told your kids?”

It’s coming. And I fear it’s going to be soon, the time when we have to “tell” our three year old. Of course, he has no idea what cancer is, and shouldn’t at his age. But his questions just keep coming and I’m getting worse and worse at dodging them. But in my defense, he is getting better at cornering me. Take, for example, our lunchtime convo today:
Evan: Mommy, I need to go to the doctor
Me: Why, are you sick?
Evan: You go to the doctor a lot. Are you still sick?
Me: I feel fine, honey
Evan: But you go to the doctor. Are you sick?
Me: I guess technically, but I feel fine, don’t worry honey
Evan: Are you going to be sick forever?
(Here is where I feel like I got punched in the gut and start to tear up)
Me: Wanna watch a Paw Patrol??
Evan: Yeah!!

Ok, so admittedly not my finest parenting moment. But how do you explain something like this to a three year old? He knows something’s up, so I don’t want to lie to him, but I also know how kids internalize things and worry, which he doesn’t need. You may be asking yourself why I ever even told him I was going to the doctor in the first place, and that’s fair, but I tried all other kinds of fibs and it just didn’t work any other way but to tell him the truth in that respect. Any other place I said I was going, he would ask to come along and then I would have to lie even more about why he couldn’t come. I know lying is a sin, but does a child really need to know the details?

I feel like a part of my job is to protect my children from this. I want them to be carefree; I want them to be kids. But I know the other side of the coin is that kids tend, naturally, to be selfish. I want to raise compassionate children that understand that it’s their job as followers of Christ to help hurting people. I just don’t know that mommy needs to be one of those hurting people, ya know what I mean? Our daughter is only 17 months, so I like to believe she’s pretty oblivious to it all, but she is very, very clingy to me, so who knows? Maybe she senses something.

So how do you tell kids? How do I tell them that melanoma is a progressive cancer in most people? How do I explain all the doctor’s visits? How do I prep them for if there comes a time when I’m not able to take care of them? How do you explain that they may not be able to do a sport or activity because we have to pay Mommy’s medical bills? And the thing I dread most, how do I explain to them that they are at a higher risk of it happening to them, too?

I tell ya, every time Evan starts talking about when he goes to school or when he starts driving, I immediately get choked up, just wondering if I’m going to be able to be there to see it. I want to protect my kids from every kind of hurt, and that involves all the awful things that would go along with growing up without a mom. I know it probably sounds like I’m getting ahead of myself, but as a parent, you feel like it’s your job to plan ahead for your kids and when you have cancer, it’s hard not to think about all the possibilities that that entails. To the point where I sometimes (only half jokingly) tell my husband if I think a certain girl would or wouldn’t be a suitable second wife. He just laughs and rolls his eyes. We love each other like that. Maybe that sounds weird or morbid, but it calms me down a little to know that my husband would only marry someone who would be a excellent mother figure and strong Christian example to the kids. I mean, he obviously has fantastic taste in women, amiright?? 😉 I try not to let myself go there, but I promise you this, every time I do, God calms my spirit, often without me even asking Him to. He has taken care of us in every step of this so far, so I would be a real fool to stop trusting Him at this point.

I have no answers, unfortunately. This is just something that comes with the territory I suppose, but I do wish I could come up with something that would help our son feel like he has answers to his questions, but is also truthful. Without scaring him! Haha I guess I’ll just keep praying for answers and that the right words will come as the questions flow. This part is really hard though and I really don’t like it!