To the family…
hearing the words. “It’s cancer,” for the first time
watching your child fall asleep to anesthesia for another procedure
listening to your child scream as they receive yet another poke
angry about the way treatment is making your child feel
crying in a bathroom so your child doesn’t see your pain
praying in silence your child takes that next breath
screaming into the abyss because you don’t know what else to do anymore
frustrated with the constant stream of tests, labs, and scans
waiting for results that could forever change your child’s life
overwhelmed with the abundance of information coming your way
cleaning up after the barrage of medicines made your child sick
exhausted after many days and nights with insurmountable sleep debt
torn between how to take care of your sick child and still be able to see your other children
who has small children at home who don’t fully understand why you’re gone so often
who’s other children miss their sibling and just want them to come home
lamenting the life before cancer turned your world upside down
yearning for a “normal” childhood for your sick child
mourning the future your child is desperately fighting for
grieving the child you lost to this horrible monster.
We see you.
We stand with you.
We hurt for you too.
Please ask for help.
Be gentle with yourself.
There’s no judgment in making sure you’re healthy so you can keep fighting alongside your child.