Moms tell how they feel about their child's diagnosis in 3 words

I felt many emotions the day we found out about Joey's brain tumor. My mind, heart, and gut would continue to cycle through so many emotions over the nearly 14 months before his death.

The day the doctor said to me, "Bad news, it's a tumor," I felt like everything dropped out from under me. I felt confusion and disbelief, anger and sadness.

And denial. I definitely felt denial. I kept hoping the scans were wrong. I kept hoping that there really WAS something the doctors and surgeons could do to save his life.

And after his death, I felt devastation, heartbreak, and relief.

It may seem unbelievable to say that I was relieved that my son died, but his life could not go on the way it was. His suffering was truly over.

When Joey's brother Slim was diagnosed with autism two years ago, I felt relief once more. Not that my son was going to have a lifetime of social challenges and difficulties, but relief that he could finally get the services and treatments that we knew could help him achieve and put his wonderful mind to work.

When we hear the words "diagnosis" or "diagnosed" they often put a sick feeling into our stomachs - even as moms of "typical healthy" kids (are any of them without challenge though?) - because we can imagine how we would feel if that were our child. What would we do? How would we feel? In what ways we would deal with the changing hand we'd been dealt?

People say that attitude is everything. Some people, myself included, are naturally more negative thinkers, assuming the worst right away. Some are sunny sunshiners from the get know and just know everything will be just fine.

Both people's kids get cancer. Both have children born with Down syndrome or autism. A person's attitude doesn't change the circumstances, but it can color how you deal with the hand you've been dealt.

I was curious how other moms reacted to a diagnosis their children received. Not asking what it was, I took to Facebook to ask them to describe their reactions and emotions in three words or less.

Overwhelmingly, there was almost a 50/50 split between the top two responses: worried/terrified/scared and relieved. 

I think that says a lot. I think it says that a mother's sixth sense is there, and it's strong. We know our children, and we know when something is not right.

I knew something wasn't right with Joey in the months leading up to his cancer diagnosis. He was tired and not as energetic as usual. He had grown apathetic about many of the things he loved. I suppose in some ways, I was relieved to know; though I was hoping it was allergies or migraines, not a huge tumor.

Here are some of the other emotions that moms had when they found out about their child's diagnosis:

• freaked

• nervous, anxious

• protective and mama bear

"I hate this."

• glad 

• stunned, blind-sided, shocked, sucker-punched

• frustrated, overwhelmed

"My heart dropped."

• pissed, angry

• confused

• helpless

"Scared, but blessed."

• motivated, determined, resolute, focused

• validated

• devastated, sad

"Shit, now what?"

• hopeless, powerless

• acceptance

• hopeful

"Let it be me."

• prayerful

• lonely, alone

• love

I can guarantee you that anything you're feeling once you've heard your child's diagnosis is completely normal and within the range of emotions you're "supposed to" have.

And also? They will change day by day, hour by hour, and yes, even minute by minute.

There is nothing fair or right about your child not being anything other than how you dreamed him to be. It's okay to feel angry and sad and hopeless and helpless about it.

But it's also okay to feel relief and gratitude and the resolve that makes you want to kick ass like a mama bear for your child.

My favorite response I kept for last, and it's my three-word pep talk for you:

"We got this!"

#thisischildhoodcancer

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Do you know someone whose child was just diagnosed with cancer? Here are nine things you can do to help.

Before the After (A Portrait of a Child Before Pediatric Cancer)

One of the MANY things that bothers me so much about Joey's cancer is that hardly anyone knew him before. Before the dreaded after.

Our family knew him, his preschool teachers knew him, and a few of my friends knew him.

But his life was just getting started before it came to the tragic end it did. Now people just know him as "Joey, the kindergartner with cancer." The bloated-from-steroids, goofy-hair-from chemo little boy who always carried Stripey Kitten and slept a lot in the nurse's office at school. Sweet but weak, with a sense of humor that would repeat itself frequently.

"Kathy's son who died." "Our brother who died." "That little kindergarten boy who died."

The thing about Joey was that he was so special. He was going to be so great in his life. I know every mom thinks that about her child, but there was something about Joey that just radiated uniqueness and joy. I'm going to try hard to explain it to you by telling you a few stories and introducing you to the Joey Before the After.

The Baby Joey

He was Baby A in my twin pregnancy, and he took this position seriously. He occupied more than his fair share of space in my already crowded uterus. So much so that we could never get a clear picture of Baby B, Slim. Once he vacated the premises, Slim finally found all the room he needed, stretched out, and waited three hours before he was forced to vacate as well.

As a baby, Joey was busy and active and always smiling. He was roly-poly and fat and played with toys like it was a paying job, a job at which he over-achieved. One of his brothers' favorite stories about his baby days is a story of when I was changing his diaper. I had his little legs up in the air to wipe his bottom, and out came some more poop, shooting across the room. Telling this story in a houseful of boys never gets old.

Another favorite story of Hubby's and mine is about the time Joey escaped from his crib. He had these huge block feet that were great for climbing. Hubby and I were watching t.v. one night in the living room when we heard a thump, then the distinct sound of feet running. Down the hall came Joey, a huge mischievous grin on his face. The smile said it all: I knew I wasn't supposed to do that, but I did and I just wanted you to see that I did. He didn't escape from bed again. He didn't have to, he'd already accomplished that goal.

The Toddler Joey

As soon as Joey was about three, he loved to be outside. He was always willing to help Hubby with gardening or carrying something to another spot in the yard. He loved watering plants and riding his bike and digging in rocks and jumping in leaves. He thought of games to play outside and got his two younger brothers to join in. If he had to be inside, he was playing a board game or doing a puzzle. He would be playing with our train set or dancing to silly music.

He was always the leader, always in the middle of the three. As each new baby was born, he wanted in on the action. He knew that baby was getting the attention, so he jumped in to get some of the limelight for himself. He taught Knox how to crawl, and made Lil' C feel like the most important baby of all time. He helped feed and play with the babies and brought them toys when they were crying.

Our favorite Joey toddler story occurred when Knox was about a year and a half and Joey was about three. It was a hot July night, and we made the backyard slide into a water slide. Knox's diaper had become so heavy with water that he just stripped it off and was sliding down the slide naked. Joey thought that looked like fun, so he stripped off his bathing suit and was going "au naturel" as well. He always had to be part of the fun. He loved to laugh, and his laugh was infectious. He was simply FUN with a capital F to be around.

Always the same smile that showed all his teeth. 

Preschool Joey

Preschool Joey didn't cry or cling to me on the first day of school. He ran right in the building and never looked back. He loved to paint and read and sing. He loved that his wonderful preschool teacher did science with the kids by planting an herb garden. He loved cultivating his plants. And he loved the puzzles and dress up and games of preschool. He wanted to play every sport, try every daring thing he saw. He had courage to spare. He was a mama's boy, but he never clinged to me in fear.

At home, he loved dressing up in my shoes and make-up and hats. He always had a hat on. He loved old Halloween costumes and seeing how many of my bracelets and hair clips he could get on himself. And he drug his brothers into this dress-up as well. His imagination was limitless and his concentration fierce. He was always something unique for Halloween, whether it was The Man with the Yellow Hat from Curious George to a life-sized version of Stripey Kitten. He always thought of his own costume. Hubby and I have always wondered about the things he would have been able to do had he not "had a head full of tumor."

Do you see a pattern here? Joey LOVED LIFE. Every single thing about it. Many moms are bored at home with their children. I was never bored a day in my life when Joey was in it. He made me truly happy. I'm sure I had some frustrating mom moments, but I can't say he was ever a challenge to me.


Of course, that all changed shortly after his headaches started sometime after his fifth birthday.

After that, he was a different person with some hints of the old Joey.

Five years was all we got of this incredible human being. Five years' worth of memories and giggles and crazy ideas that we cling to in a desperate attempt not to lose them.

I will - and do - talk about Joey all the time. I will never stop talking about him. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, I will still talk about him. He is a part of me and will never not be a part of me. Gone are the days that we leave rooms untouched and don't speak our loved one's names. It hurts at times to remember what a vibrant life force he was; but most of the time it brings me comfort and cements the memories that I have of him firmly in my mind so that they don't get lost; which some of them have, sadly.

One of the best things you can do for a grieving family is to talk about their loved one. Before the after. Ask what their child was like. Listen to their birth story. Listen to silly toddler stories. Laugh and cry and hug and honor. Here is a beautiful post from another grieving mom that encourages you to talk about your own and others' children who have passed.

We know it's hard, but we love you for trying.

#thisischildhoodcancer
Stay with me all month long as I talk about ways you can help families of children who are battling this horribly unfair disease or who have lost their lives to it. Stay with me as I honor them alongside our precious Joey.

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Places to Check Before Donating to a Children's Cancer Charity

Shortly after Joey was diagnosed with cancer, we found out that the mom of one of Slim's preschool classmates was planning a surprise fundraiser for us. I didn't know this woman other than the conversations I had with her in the drop-off and pick-up line. She seemed nice, and I accepted her friend request on Facebook.

Hubby and I found out from our friends and family that she had contacted people from my Facebook friends list about helping her put together this fundraiser. She planned a meeting, and thankfully, my brother and sister-in-law went along with a woman from Hubby's office who was also friends with my brother and SIL. They were very suspicious about this woman's motives and told her so. In the end, Hubby called her and said thanks but no thanks, and please stop contacting our family and friends. She promptly unfriended me and I never heard from her again.

Now, I want to believe that she only had good intentions in her heart. After all, why would someone take advantage of a family whose child was sick? While I'll never know her true intentions, sadly there are so many people who will do anything to scam money from people, even if it means taking advantage of people while they are at their most vulnerable.

I think most of us are cautious enough to care for our money, but I also think people are getting sneakier and smarter these days. The Internet provides multiple opportunities for scammers. Look at the prominence of websites such as Go Fund Me and GiveFoward. These sites carefully research each request that comes through and I have personally donated to some causes, but only ones where I knew the people or knew someone who knew them well. I'm sure many rip-off sites have been started based off their premise.

So how do you protect your money when your heartstrings are being tugged, especially during pediatric cancer awareness month? You have to know a little bit about how reputable charities work and choose to give only to them.

Tax exempt status:

Charitable organizations need to have a tax exempt status of 501(c)(3) which means:

"The exempt purposes set forth in section 501(c)(3) are charitable, religious, educational, scientific, literary, testing for public safety, fostering national or international amateur sports competition, and preventing cruelty to children or animals.  The term charitable is used in its generally accepted legal sense and includes relief of the poor, the distressed, or the underprivileged; advancement of religion; advancement of education or science; erecting or maintaining public buildings, monuments, or works; lessening the burdens of government; lessening neighborhood tensions; eliminating prejudice and discrimination; defending human and civil rights secured by law; and combating community deterioration and juvenile delinquency."

According to the IRS, "To be tax-exempt under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code, an organization must be organized and operated exclusively for exempt purposes set forth in section 501(c)(3), and none of its earnings may inure to any private shareholder or individual. In addition, it may not be an action organization, i.e., it may not attempt to influence legislation as a substantial part of its activities and it may not participate in any campaign activity for or against political candidates."

There are very strict laws and requirements and a lot of hoops an organization has to jump through in order to gain this tax-exempt status. The charitable organization needs a governing board, and that governing board needs to meet a required amount of times per year. Operating expenses and budget reports must be submitted and any money coming in and going out is highly scrutinized and tracked.

A scammer is not going to go through all that trouble to apply for 501(c)(3) status. We hope.


Better Business Bureau Accredited Charities:

According to the Better Business Bureau, "an accredited charity is an organization that meets all 20 of the BBB Standards for Charity Accountability based on a review of information and materials provided by the organization. There is no charge to the charity for the evaluation completed by the BBB. Charities are not legally required to submit information and materials to the BBB for evaluation." The 20 standards include the ways they govern their organization, the ways they spend their money, the truthfulness of their representations, and their willingness to disclose basic information to the public. 

Again, to me, any organization that is on the up-and-up will have no problem disclosing their records to the Better Business Bureau. From there, you can decide what is important to you. For example, many of my friends have worked for Alex's Lemonade Stand and love what they are doing for cancer research, funding, and assistance. However, according to the BBB, they are not an accredited organization because they do not meet ONE of the 20 requirements - compensated board members. I have personally been contacted by ALSF in the past, and I would have no problem holding a lemonade stand or donating to their organization. They do meet all 19 other requirements and at least they are being honest and disclosing their reports. 

Check here to determine if a charity you are considering donating to is BBB accredited. 


Federal Trade Commission's Charity Checklist:

The FTC is an independent agency of the United States government whose mission "is the promotion of consumer protection and the elimination and prevention of anticompetitive business practices, such as coercive monopoly." (Wikipedia) In short, they want to help us protect and spend our money wisely. They have studied the practices of charities and know when consumers are being scammed. For example if an organization's name sounds closely like a well-known charity's name, it's probably fake. If a charity refuses to give you detailed information about how it's money is spent, they are probably hiding something. If the charity needs the money in cash or right away, DON'T GIVE!

This page gives detailed information on what to watch out for, signs of charity scams, and what to ask before letting go of your hard-earned money. You can also report a charity scam there.

Other Charity Checker Sites:

Charity Navigator - Evaluates the "financial health, accountability, and transparency" of over 7,000 of America's largest charities (though I was sad to see that no pediatric cancer charities were currently "trending" on their site).

CharityWatch - Has rated over 600 charities. Charities on their "top rated list" generally spend 75% or more of their budgets on programs, spend $25 or less to raise $100 in public support, do not hold excessive assets in reserve, and receive "open-book" status for disclosure of basic financial information and documents to CharityWatch. Charities are given an A-F status according to criteria met (though please note that they ask for a donation to receive a more comprehensive guide to their ratings).

GuideStar - Here you can get up-to-date information, like IRS data, on thousands of non-profits for free. They provide as much information as they can about each charity's  mission, legitimacy, impact, reputation, finances, programs, transparency, and governance.

I also found some more helpful information on what to consider from this New York Times article.

After doing my research, here are some of the top charities related to children's cancer that I would (and have) given my money to that meet all 20 BBB standards, are all classified 501(c)(3), and received 3 or 4 stars out of 4 on Charity Navigator (in alphabetical order): 

Children's Brain Tumor Foundation
Children's Tumor Foundation
CureSearch
Give Kids the World
Locks of Love
Make-A-Wish
Pediatric Cancer Research Foundation
Ronald McDonald House Charities
St. Jude Children's Research Hospital

Here is a runner-up list of charities that are BBB accredited:

Candlelighters Childhood Cancer Family Alliance
St. Baldrick's Foundation

And here are two organizations that seek to do good things that are smaller and closer to my heart:

Donna's Good Things
Team Jack Foundation

and

Alex's Lemonade Stand (which IS 501(c)(3) and is rated 4 out of 4 stars on Charity Navigator).


*Please note, this is just MY opinion, my personal experience with some of these organizations, and MY research. If it is in your heart to donate time or money to a charity, please do it. Just be sure to fully research an organization first before spending your precious time or hard-earned money on their cause. 

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This is Childhood Cancer

Hopefully you know by now that September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Maybe you know, but don't want to think about it. Seeing pictures of kids without hair, with hollowed-out eyes, in wheelchairs, or bloated from daily doses of steroids is too much for you to handle. Thank God that's not MY child, or Please God, never let that be MY child, you think.

Well, for some of us it is our child. According to CureSearch.org, more than 40,000 children are in treatment for cancer each year. In fact, cancer is the number one cause of death in children ages 1-19, more than all other diseases combined.

It can strike any child at any time.

Even yours.

This is what cancer looked like for my family:

Joey was a vibrant, smart, fun, curious child who loved to hug and laugh and have fun.

But, shortly after he turned five, he began getting almost daily headaches accompanied by vomiting. He lost a lot of weight.

After a CT scan revealed a mass in his brain, he spent two weeks in the hospital with a drain running out of the side of his head. He had two surgeries that determined that the tumor in his brain was inoperable. A doctor told us our son would die. He asked us to sign a DNR for our five-year-old son. We did.

Joey with US astronaut (ret.) Clayton Anderson

Despite that diagnosis, we couldn't do nothing. He was our son. So he got fitted for a radiation mask and began a six-week course of radiation. After he rang that bell signaling the end of radiation, we celebrated with a party. What was the last party you had for your child?

He also began taking steroids to help with the swelling and vomiting. He was down from vomiting five times a day to once a day, but he was also gaining weight rapidly. A yellow puke bowl was his constant companion.

While some parents are busy worrying about whether Little Declan has the right Spiderman backpack for school, we were just relieved that Joey made it through the summer and was able to start kindergarten with his twin brother. The signed DNR still sat unused on my desk.

He spent a good portion of the kindergarten day sleeping in the nurse's office; and instead of learning how to read, he was learning other things. And we had to be okay with that.

This is how families of kids with cancer get to see Disney World. It's no fun getting the best seat on the parade route or getting to the front of the line just because your child has cancer. I'd wait an hour and stand on my tippy-toes to have my healthy child back.

Joey missed Thanksgiving because he was in the hospital. He had the stomach flu; but in children taking chemotherapy, this is much more serious because of their already weakened immune systems.

Our last Christmas memory of Joey would be a wonderful glimpse into his real personality. He performed "Jingle Bells" for the whole family. Despite getting almost everything he asked for that Christmas, he played with none of it. The brain tumor made him lose interest in activities he once loved.

By Spring, his smiles were much more rare. And on a last ditch attempt at a family vacation, Joey sat most of the time on our trip to Florida, too bloated and tired and uninterested to do anything.

When the month of May came, I prayed every day that Joey would not die on Mother's Day or my birthday.

These pictures were taken just days before his death in June. It hurts me to look at them. Does it hurt you? Good.

Five days after our son died in our arms, this is how my husband and I spent our 9th wedding anniversary . . .

. . .and this is where I visit my child now.

This is what my family pictures will forever look like.

These are the brothers that will grow up without their twin and best friend.

And this is the child who will never know his oldest brother who died before he was born.

If this bothers you - as it should - look. Think. Research. Donate if you can. Spread the word. Share. 

I don't want any other parent to know first-hand what pediatric cancer looks like.

I dedicate this post to a fellow cancer mom, Mindy, who inspired it. I'm thinking of both you and Brinkley all month long.

Consider This: Euthanasia of Children

I can't believe I'm going to admit this, but there were several times when Joey was sick that I wished that the inevitable would just hurry up and happen. We knew he was going to die. That much was clear. What we didn't know was exactly how or when he would die.

Would his brain tumor cause blindness? Would it render him unable to speak or move? What would be the extent of the damage the beast caused to his little person? That was unknown.

I imagined the what-ifs a lot. As terrible as it was to think about, I had to prepare myself for the worst. I had to imagine it over and over again, so if it happened, I would be ready.

But sometimes on my darkest, most sad and miserable days, I fantasized about turning our van into traffic and killing us both just to hurry it up.

It's awful, I know, but that's the desperation of a parent who knows her child will die and doesn't want to watch him suffer.

I heard something on the radio the other day that made me shudder: Belgium is thisclose to moving forward with a law allowing euthanasia for children.

It made me stop and take pause because I was just talking to someone the other day about euthanasia for adults. My Catholic faith tells me this is wrong, but my heart tells me that some people should be able to choose to end a life of misery rather than knowingly suffer.

The Belgium law states that "euthanasia would be permissible for terminally ill children who are close to death, experiencing “constant and unbearable suffering” and can show a “capacity of discernment,” meaning they can demonstrate they understand the consequences of such a choice."

The law has already passed 86 to 44 in their "lower house" and is just awaiting the king's final approval.

This is so heavy. It makes my heart heavy. The New York Times article I'm quoting spoke specifically of children with terminal cancers. Much of the debate is around the fact that children may not be mature enough to decide, that "closeness to death" is a matter of opinion, that children in that much pain might not be mentally able to make that decision, and that modern medicine is, in fact, capable of alleviating the suffering of even the terminally ill.

This issue is fraught with so much emotional debate. On one hand, seeing a child suffering is absolutely unbearable. On the other hand, killing a child - whether that child wants it or not - is completely unconscionable to most people.

What saved us when Joey was sick was that he didn't seem to be suffering. Yes, it was awful to watch him vomit and puff up from the steroids that were supposed to keep him from vomiting. It was heartbreaking to answer the same question over and over again because his short-term memory had been stolen. And in the beginning, it was a punch in the gut when he asked why this was happening to him and why he wasn't getting any better.

But if I had turned my van into oncoming traffic and he'd been killed, we would have missed so much. We would have missed those moments of Joey humor when he pulled a one-liner or when he talked in his Stripey Kitten voice or when we cuddled at night and he would whisper in a shaky voice, "Mommy, I am SO your boy." We would have missed the smiles and the occasional laughs that we cling to now.

The bad part  - the part where Joey couldn't move out of the same chair, where he lost control of his bladder, where it was hard for him to eat, and where he barely spoke - that really only lasted a short time. And I got to hold him while he died, feeling his body slow down and eventually shut off - a natural death.

Euthanasia of humans is an awful issue, but terminal illness is awful, too. What it does to a person is horrible and miserable and heartwrenchingly difficult, especially if that person knows what is happening. 

I don't have any answers. I do know that life is hard and unfair, and cancer and debilitating disease suck. I pray for sick children all the time. Now I will pray for their parents and doctors and for the strength and knowledge to make the best decisions for them.

And honestly? I will pray this is an issue we will never have to face here in the U.S. It was hard enough for me to sit back and contemplate the idea of not treating our five-year-old son at all for his terminal cancer. To have to help him decide to die would be another thing entirely.

This law is supposedly meant for teenagers (think "The Fault in Our Stars") who are, at times, young adults themselves. But they are still someone's child, and it still makes me sick to my stomach to think about. 

I wish this weren't even an issue. I wish no child or parent would ever have to consider this. 


What are your thoughts on euthanasia and terminally ill children?

Grief Stories~One Loss; One Diagnosis - Double the Grief

Sometimes it seems as if 'when it rains, it pours.' This was the case with Emily of Oh Boy Mom. After going through one devastating loss, she was shocked with another terrifying diagnosis. Just when she thought it was more than she could take, she realized she was receiving strength from a special person.

After almost a three-year battle with pancreatic cancer, my mother passed away right after her 75^th birthday on April 29^th. Although I knew she was fighting an incurable disease, I never expected her to succumb to chemotherapy toxicity, rather than the cancer itself. She had been in the hospital for almost six weeks and each day I was by her side. On the one day off I took, my brother called my cell phone with the dismal report: I think she’s nearing the end. My throat tightened and went dry. I raced into the city and the three of us sat vigil until her heart and lungs eventually gave out.

What I discovered soon after my mother’s death was that my grief was pure and un-complicated. I felt blessed to have had such an amazing role model and nurturing parent. I was able to cope and move on with my life. I missed her, but I was doing okay.

Until I experienced another knee-buckling phone call, with news that no parent should ever hear.

A mere two months after my mother’s death, my nine-year-old son was diagnosed with a rare, cancerous tumor in his bladder. Needless to say, our entire world was flipped upside down, as we quickly learned that our son would have to endure 46 weeks of chemotherapy in conjunction with radiation, surgery, or both. I was terrified of chemotherapy, not just because it meant cancer, but also because it contributed to my mother’s death.

I lost seven pounds in three days. I wasn’t sleeping. And yet, I managed to initially hold myself together, probably due to a combination of shock and adrenaline. It wasn’t until I was on the phone with my sister-in-law taking a break outside the hospital when I broke down.

“How am I supposed to go through this without my mom?” I wailed, making sure to be heard over the blaring New York City noise.

I had no idea how I would function without my mother - my biggest supporter - by my side. As it turned out, my husband felt the same way.

“We need your mom”, he said to me one night.

I looked at him, nodded, and then I cried.

 

My husband and I had each other to lean on of course, but we both felt very alone with this challenge. His family was not local and neither was mine, except for my dad, who was still mourning and vulnerable from losing his wife of 52 years. My dad was a huge help to us from a medical standpoint, but emotionally, he was still managing his own grief. I had a cousin and aunt in the area that continually offered to help us, but I knew they couldn’t replace my mom. I worried that their support would make me feel worse. I avoided their calls and sent emails to them that we were okay, even though we weren’t.

 

The friends that I had made in our wonderful community over the past decade immediately swooped in and rescued my husband and me, throwing us a life preserver before we drowned in helpless sorrow and worry. They brought us meals, gifts for my son, and anything else they thought would help sustain us. Naturally, my instinct was to call up my mom and tell her about the beautiful acts of kindness that were surrounding our family each day.

 

When news of our crisis first filtered out, I had one friend who said to me, “I don’t know why, but I think you’re being tested.”

 

I agreed with her, even though I searched for another reason why this was happening to our family so soon after losing my mom.

 

Was this God’s way of distracting me from my grief about my mother? I wasn’t a very religious person and neither was my mother. I could imagine her response to that theory: “oh please, that’s horse crap.”

 

I never considered myself to be a strong person. I was overly sensitive for sure, with feelings that could easily be hurt if someone spoke harshly to me or looked at me with disdain. I did not have the resilience for this. At all.

 

I suppose the upside is that I didn’t have time to think about my strength and capability too much. I had to act, not react. The early days of arranging my son’s medical care were a blur of tests, appointments, research, procedures, and finally starting treatment. Every mother wants to protect her child and in the face of a scary illness, you don’t want to reveal your own fear. I smiled, made jokes, and did everything possible to make our hospital visits into adventurous episodes, rather than a frightening ordeal. Most of the time, it worked. Sometimes, my son needed me to lay in bed with him and hug him. I realized I needed the cuddling just as much. But, other times, when his care was going smoothly and almost becoming routine, I’d crack jokes, be silly, and try to make his treatments “fun.”

 

And then it dawned on me: That’s what my mom did with me during her illness.

 

It all made a little bit of sense now. My mom was preparing me to be a courageous mother for my son, just as she had been for me. I know she’s proud of me now and every day I feel her smiling her trademark crooked smile, as my son and I walk hand in hand into the hospital, laughing and joking all the way there and back.

Emily is a writer and blogger at Oh Boy Mom. She is a mom to three boys,(ages 10, 13, and 16) and one girl dog. Emily is also an iced tea junkie and a tennis-playing fanatic whose game never improves. You can connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.