Sometimes it takes someone else’s story to bring you to your knees. Open your eyes and thank God for everything thing that you have. Right then – in that crazy morning moment. I’m sure you had a bad morning. Maybe you have them a few times a week. The kids are whining, you can’t find your keys, one shoe went missing or maybe your 14-year-old lab went pee in the living room again.
Before complaining about your “bad morning” or putting it on blast, think about this:
You woke up! You are able to get out of bed. Meanwhile, there is a Mom who is too weak to even help her kids get ready for school. She would take your worst day over her everyday.
She would love to help that little human that never listens and looses every – single – thing. Every – single – morning. What she would give for just one day with no pain or the reminder that her days are short. She would spend the rest of her life helping them find shoes and backpacks if it meant that she could see them off to college.
Today started like any other day. Take the punkin to school, work, come home, cooking dinner all while playing “school”, then clean-up, prepare lunches for the next day. Then some chill time…..it was around 8:15pm and I just opened the laptop and put some OC Housewives on. Not 5 minutes into my escape did Gianna asked me, “Mommy do you want to go look at the stars”? You see back “then” bc (before cancer) I probably would’ve told her something like,
“Not tonight baby, maybe tomorrow” or “Not right now, maybe in a few minutes”, hoping she would forget about wanting to go outside.
But life ac (after cancer) is much different. I closed the laptop, grabbed a blanket and said,
“Absolutely, that sounds like a great idea…”
For every moment, you must be IN the moment. We sat outside talked and read some passages. There were no stars out tonight, but the moon was shinning bright.
So I thought we were doing “good” as far as how and what we were communicating to Gianna. That was until she said, Mommy, you’re going to die and Daddy and I are going to be by ourselves. I can’t believe I just wrote that. But I was in even more disbelief when she said that. At NO POINT do I remember even us talking about death. The only thing that I can come up with is that she realizes the magnitude of how “sick” Mommy is and just tagged on the dreaded d-word. Ouch. That still stings. Then she went on to say… “when I disappear…” After I silently freaked out and shed some tears I sat her down (again) and explained to her that Mommy is getting special medicine to make her better but that I WILL be OK. Mommy isn’t going anywhere I said. Then I read her the book Paper Chains, which is about a family whose Mom is going through cancer. She really loves that book and it comes highly recommended as a must read for children who have a parent or grandparent going through treatment.
First thing on the agenda tomorrow after my lab work is to find out what resources Moffitt has for children/families undergoing treatment. I can only imagine how that little 4-year old is processing everything that is going on. Justin and I are doing everything we can to keep things normal for her, but as you can imagine-it is very difficult.