They are little warriors.
Sometimes I forget how hard this journey has been on them. They are young, and we were able to keep the scary stuff on the top shelf. I don’t think they ever truly understood how serious my battle was, but they did see me benched – while the other moms played. They did see me bald, and broken. They heard me cry in the shower. Their momma was weak, and weary. And that had to be so hard for them.
They would always come bubbling in the door from their activities to find me in different shades of consciousness on the couch. The days surrounding chemo were the worst. They didn’t understand why my head was down on the dinner table.
I made the most of my good days, and would slowly walk them to the park. I tried to take them to do special things whenever I found a burst of energy. Alex and I painted pottery. Andy and I built a bear. We made star wars cookies, and painted with water colors. I did my best.
They never really seemed stressed, or sad. But every once in awhile one of them would say something that knocked the wind from my sails.
“Why are you so lazy?”
“All the other mommies have hair.”
“Why can’t YOU go with us?”
This Friday evening I was putting my tennis shoes on to go for a run and Alex started begging to go with me. I finally said yes. As we ran down our street, he said: “I can’t stop smiling. I can’t get the smile off of my face. I am so excited to run with you.”
There we were. Eleven months post cancer diagnosis. Running together. My legs sore, my lungs burning, my fake boobs barely bouncing, and my spirit soaring. He had to stop several times to walk. He had to ask ME to stop. It was only a mile. But it was magic. And as we passed the park by our house I asked him to swing with me in the dark. We pumped our legs and stared up at the moon. He was giggling, and I was just there. Just right there in that beautiful moment. Looking out at the trees preparing to shed their leaves.
Life once again at the edge of change.
My kids. They are little warriors. They have survived this, too.