Shades of Winter
Last night I was reminded again that you can never overestimate the emotional toll that cancer takes on a patient's family, especially the children.
Following one of Andrew's angry outbursts (accusing me of being lazy rather than sick and of causing all of his current difficulties), Josiah tried to help the situation by having a talk with him downstairs in the den. He reminded Andrew that I have a terminal illness and we really don't know how long I have left, and that he (Andrew) should be helping promote harmony in the family rather than strife so that I can have some peace.
All of sudden, Autumn burst out of her bedroom, screaming, "Mom IS NOT going to die! Mom IS NOT going to die! How dare you say that?" She told them that she hated them both for making things harder for me. Don had to bring her upstairs, where she got onto the floor on her knees and beat her fists against the carpet, screaming over and over again, "Mom IS NOT going to die!" She was shaking uncontrollably and crying. She was so upset that I felt we needed to get her out of the house for a while, so I called her best friend's mother (our neighbor) and asked if she could please spend the night over there. (I knew they would be able to console her, because they have done so in the past.)
After she left, Josiah and I sat together in the family room, and we both cried for a long time. It's extremely hard for them. As our oldest three children, Andrew, Josiah, and Autumn are more aware of the gravity of the situation (although, apparently, Autumn has a great deal of denial going on) and it's hard on them. They were 12, 11, and 10 when I was diagnosed, so they have grown up in the shadows of my battle against cancer. They have watched me disintegrate from an active, healthy woman who worked, taxied them around town, volunteered at church and school, and loved to travel to a pain-ridden, hunched-over slowpoke on a walker or in a wheelchair. They have seen me suffer from surgeries and chemo and radiation -- and even though they cannot truly understand the depths of my physical suffering, it has been heartbreaking for them to watch my descent into this remnant of my former self.
There's no way that you can argue that this has not played a part in shaping who they are today, and who they will become in the future. I only hope that it teaches them faith, and compassion, and perseverance. After all, my children are my legacy. They are all that will remain of me in this world when I am gone. I don't want them to waste time grieving when I am gone. I hope they think of me, of course, and smile when they remember the woman who is so cheap that she puts clearance-sale Halloween candy in their Christmas stockings and who loves 80s music and the ocean.
But I don't want them to dwell on the sorrow of it all. I want them to LIVE ... and I want to live, too.
Wishing you peace in your corner of the world,
:-) Sharon
P.S. -- Yes, it affects the younger children, too, but thankfully they do not understand to the degree that the older ones do. They thrive on normalcy, so we try to keep things as normal around here as possible, even when I am running the command center from my hospital bed in the family room.
Following one of Andrew's angry outbursts (accusing me of being lazy rather than sick and of causing all of his current difficulties), Josiah tried to help the situation by having a talk with him downstairs in the den. He reminded Andrew that I have a terminal illness and we really don't know how long I have left, and that he (Andrew) should be helping promote harmony in the family rather than strife so that I can have some peace.
All of sudden, Autumn burst out of her bedroom, screaming, "Mom IS NOT going to die! Mom IS NOT going to die! How dare you say that?" She told them that she hated them both for making things harder for me. Don had to bring her upstairs, where she got onto the floor on her knees and beat her fists against the carpet, screaming over and over again, "Mom IS NOT going to die!" She was shaking uncontrollably and crying. She was so upset that I felt we needed to get her out of the house for a while, so I called her best friend's mother (our neighbor) and asked if she could please spend the night over there. (I knew they would be able to console her, because they have done so in the past.)
After she left, Josiah and I sat together in the family room, and we both cried for a long time. It's extremely hard for them. As our oldest three children, Andrew, Josiah, and Autumn are more aware of the gravity of the situation (although, apparently, Autumn has a great deal of denial going on) and it's hard on them. They were 12, 11, and 10 when I was diagnosed, so they have grown up in the shadows of my battle against cancer. They have watched me disintegrate from an active, healthy woman who worked, taxied them around town, volunteered at church and school, and loved to travel to a pain-ridden, hunched-over slowpoke on a walker or in a wheelchair. They have seen me suffer from surgeries and chemo and radiation -- and even though they cannot truly understand the depths of my physical suffering, it has been heartbreaking for them to watch my descent into this remnant of my former self.
There's no way that you can argue that this has not played a part in shaping who they are today, and who they will become in the future. I only hope that it teaches them faith, and compassion, and perseverance. After all, my children are my legacy. They are all that will remain of me in this world when I am gone. I don't want them to waste time grieving when I am gone. I hope they think of me, of course, and smile when they remember the woman who is so cheap that she puts clearance-sale Halloween candy in their Christmas stockings and who loves 80s music and the ocean.
But I don't want them to dwell on the sorrow of it all. I want them to LIVE ... and I want to live, too.
Wishing you peace in your corner of the world,
:-) Sharon
P.S. -- Yes, it affects the younger children, too, but thankfully they do not understand to the degree that the older ones do. They thrive on normalcy, so we try to keep things as normal around here as possible, even when I am running the command center from my hospital bed in the family room.
posted by Sharon | 10:18 PM
4 Comments:
Lots of hugs and love to you and your family Sharon! I'm thinking of you all often and praying for you more!
This post is like those in the movies. You've gone through a lot. Continue praying. :)
Many many hugs and prayers to you. I am in a similar situation with asthma and chronic bronchial infections. My two littles ones are hanging in but I wonder if they will grow up thinking the Mom spends every other week in bed. Oh well.
Deb
My prayers are for you to be well again. And much love to your family too.
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