Dear Cancer Mom
In honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, a letter to cancer parents everywhere.
Photo by Lisa Wolfe of LivingForEverything.com
Dear Cancer Mom,
I see you.
I see you as you sort through paperwork, ask questions, and deliberate over the best care plan for your child. I see you in the middle of the night, holding your child as they cry, helpless to make their pain go away. I see you as you assist with their care, learning how to give chemotherapy at home, nervously but bravely changing a dressing or replacing an NG tube. I see your body, heavy with the weariness of cancer care giving. I see you in the waiting room while your child undergoes procedures, tears fringing your eyes, heart in your throat as you wait. I see you as you hold your breath until you get test results. I see you looking through pages of hats on the internet, looking for the softest way to cover their precious head. I see you trying to navigate a pandemic AND keep your child safe with a fragile immune system. I see you creatively bringing joy to their days by packing their favorite things for clinic visits and seizing every opportunity to make good memories. I see your concern for your child’s future after cancer. Will they still get to pursue their dreams? I see your brave face, and I see you when the dam breaks and you can’t hold back tears anymore. The weight you carry is far too heavy for any mother to bear. Oh dear friend, how I wish I could sit and cry with you.
Bereaved Mom, I see you. When we first felt our babies kick, we never dreamed of a day their bodies would be forever still. I see you scream through hot tears. I see you too weak to get out of bed. I see you struggle to keep living. I see you wrestle with misplaced guilt. I see the ache in your chest as you see your child's friends grow older each year and wonder what your child would look like or spend their time doing. I see you weep as you watch childhood cancer survivors and wish there could have been something done to rescue your child too. I see you as you sob unexpectedly at a surprise memory. I see you imagine who they would have grown to become. I see your fear that they will be forgotten - that someday no one else will remember the way they laughed or the way their curls bounced as they danced. I see your sorrow, and how you long for your child to be in your arms. How I wish I could hug you and grieve our empty arms together.
Cancer moms, bereaved cancer moms: whatever you do, don’t do this alone–we can’t do this alone. Find someone to talk to about how you’re feeling. Find someone to cry with. Maybe for you it's a counselor, a friend, or a pastor. I'm grateful that my friends and church community walked closely beside me while my daughter Emmi was sick, and have remained present as I've mourned her absence. As kind as these wonderful people are, their presence hasn't satisfied me nearly as much as drawing near to God. You might be wondering, What does that even mean? Why would I want to go close to God when He allowed this awful cancer to invade my child's sweet body? Will He even listen to me? Is He really good?
I hear you. I wrestle with the same questions. I draw near to God by praying and journaling about all of my tumultuous thoughts. I have literally said to God, “Why did Emmi have to suffer? Why didn’t you save her when I know you’re powerful enough to remove her illness with a word? Didn’t you care about her? About me?”
I can have this conversation with Him because I read in the Bible that He wants to have an honest relationship with me–with you. I come to Him in my rage and anger, I talk to Him about my heavy sorrow, I offer Him all my questions about why Emmi suffered and died. I wrestle with Him. As I hold on to Him in my desperation, He reminds me how His heart breaks with mine - how Emmi's difficult cancer journey made Him weep too. He intended from the beginning of time for every person to find their rest in Him, enjoy perfect peace in Him, and not taste the bitterness of death. Mankind's sinfulness broke the world, but God sent Jesus to redeem all that is broken. One day he will return to gather everyone who places their trust in him and take them to heaven. As a ship beaten about by a violet storm sends their anchor ahead into a safe harbor, I send my hope ahead of me to the promise of being with God in heaven, of seeing my daughter again. One day, there will be no more sorrow. Every tear will be wiped away. In this world we will have trouble, but we can take heart because He has overcome the world. While I eagerly await that day, I will share the hope I've found in Jesus and advocate for families facing childhood cancer.
As we stand arm in arm, seeking more funds to be dedicated to research childhood cancer and develop more treatment options for our kids, I sincerely hope that together we can push back the darkness of childhood cancer. Whether you advocate at the national level, start a non-profit, organize a fundraiser, or simply share your story like me, let's fight this dragon: cancer. Friends of cancer moms, please join us in this fight. Donate blood, donate to childhood cancer research, or support non-profits that come alongside cancer families. Whoever you are, I hope with all my heart that you would find rest for your soul. If, like me, you’ve tried other ways to find peace, I invite you to discover that there's really nothing like the rest Jesus offers.
With you in the wrestling,
Nancy
A Bereaved Cancer Mom