Dear Cancer Mom

I never wanted to be in your place. I hate that I’m sitting here, alongside you, going through something we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemies.

I hate that I’m with you, feeling the concern and anxiety over my child’s scans and doing the same over your child’s, as well. I feel for you when your child is screaming during port access, all the while I know when I walk out of the room with my son, who I was trying to keep from running for the door, that you felt for me.

We see these things in each other’s eyes. In the looks we share. Sometimes…in the comments we make.

We have formed an alliance. We are happy to see one another in clinic after an absence, even though we wish we weren’t there. We are proud of our children for making it another week without an unexpected hospitalization. We are proud of ourselves for having not lost our minds…yet.

We laugh about BINGO, which is played on the inpatient unit with the children, and to which a bead was finally secured to put with our children’s Courage Beads. We laugh about it because we think there should be “Cancer Mom BINGO” with rewards of Cafe Cash, Starbucks giftcards usable at the location in the hospital, and perhaps a drink that we shouldn’t technically have on the floor.

We see you when you walk in for the first time, completely at a loss, unsure of what to do. You see us chatting, laughing and making plans for another time while you’re bowing your head, wanting to hide, wishing you weren’t here. Trust me, we’ve all been there. We see you. We feel you. We are here for you. Just ask.

We want to be your friend, your ally.

We want to Facebook stalk you to see how everything’s going when we haven’t seen you in awhile.

And more importantly, we want to be there for you if and when one of you has the loss of your child. We will pray with and for you. We will cry with you. We will feel your loss, though not the same, but with the knowledge and understanding that we could be the next one in your shoes.

Dear Cancer Mom – we love you. Keep up the great work. You’ve got a whole army behind you that you never knew was there.

2 thoughts on “Dear Cancer Mom

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