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Rochester Local

“Mommy, Was I Stage 4?”

My daughter looked up from her iPad and said “Mommy, was I stage 4?” The question startled me.  I replied, “yes honey, you were.”  She acknowledged my answer and went back to her video, apparently about a cartoon character who was also dramatically declaring their Stage 4 illness.

My heart dropped a little. She is a cancer survivor.  Stage 4.  Neuroblastoma.  And at the age of 7, she knows way more words about cancer than she should ever know. She knows what a CT Scan is (Donut Machine).  She understands she will endure more blood work every few months (Pokes).  The girl she loves the most in her cancer circle is still battling her inoperable brain tumor.  For the most part I’ve tried to shield her from the bigger heartaches that comes with being in the world of Childhood Cancer.  She was so young when diagnosed, only 2.  She remembers some parts of her treatment, but luckily only faint memories of the people who loved her most and made her tough days just a bit better.  She does ask me about the three birds with initials on my tree tattoo that I got after her journey.  It’s a broken tree, split in the trunk, but it has strong roots.  I haven’t been able to tell her that those are the three angels that I know and love who have gone onto heaven, lost their battle with this heartbreaking disease.  And that the tree is designed to add more birds, as I have no doubt I will know and love another child who doesn’t get the chance that my daughter has had to live on.

I know in my heart that no parent ever signs on for heartache and loss when they decide to become a parent.  I feel camaraderie with all mothers and fathers who face the mounting loss that comes along with becoming a parent.  We all know someone who has miscarried, who has battled a tough disease or perhaps buried a child.  I don’t think we talk about it much though.

The world of parenthood is sometimes shaped through intense joy and immense loss.  I find this acute love and loss colors the glasses I wear when I look at the world.

Every year, in September, the childhood cancer world swells up a little bigger and asks for recognition.  Go Gold. Think about childhood cancer.  Ask for research.  Honor the survivors and reach out a hand to those who have buried their warrior.  Our number one killer of children by disease is cancer, and yet there is still a lack of innovative funding and research that can help us raise the survival rate for every child who is diagnosed.  Our parenthood may be tinged by loss and sadness, but we find happiness in every child who wages on, made stronger and more compassionate by their difficult journeys.

 

  • Your Local Cancer Momma

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