Sometimes the Child Comforts the Parent
Finding out that I had 3 new cancer spots in my right lung last week, one of my immediate thoughts afterwards was that we had to break the news to the kids. One of the benefits of having been through it before though is becoming more comfortable with hard conversations and learning how to navigate that with my children.
Last summer when we learned the cancer had come back the third time, God providentially planned it that right in the middle of treatment plans we had already booked a trip to Corpus Christi Texas to meet some of our spiritual heroes in the faith, Jon and Layne Heller. They have a beautiful ministry serving the sick and dying in Mozambique Africa. During our time with them we gleaned so much from their experience with serving weary souls on hospice, the grieving, loss, and deep sorrow. Jon and Layne had so much wisdom and insight, they put words to thoughts, emotions, and things I’d experienced that I had not been able to fully grasp. Including a desire that I had to shield my children from what I was going through.
Jon and Layne have 4 beautiful daughters and they shared their family rituals for processing grief together. This convicted me of my aversion to allowing my children in on the painful road of weekly chemo, not wanting my kids to see me sick in bed or see their momma crying in pain. The Hellers pointed Jamie and I in a clear direction and gave us a glimpse through the window of the holiness of suffering and experiencing it as a family.
As I was preparing my emotions to start in on the conversation with Reegan, the opportunity presented itself when her and I were sitting together outside. First thing in the morning under our pergola just off the master bedroom of our house, morning coffee in hand, sun was shining, we were both settled and cozy with blankets, as if the Lord providentially planned it and was saying “Now is a good time.”
“Soooo.. I have some not great news, Reegan. My bloodwork came back yesterday, and it’s not terrible but it’s not great.” I mumbled. Really unsure of how she would handle it. Reegan is sensitive, smart, a planner, and a feeler.
“What do you mean?” She needed me to spell it out for her
“The MRI I just did showed three LITTLE spots in my lung, and my bloodwork confirmed it’s cancer.”
Her eyebrows smooshed together “oh no....”
There was a little pause in the conversation, and I watched her wheels turning. The question that she asked next made me wonder if she was my child at all, due to the level of maturity and selflessness in her question.
“What is the hardest part about this for you?” My 9-year-old asked. Wow.
That same morning, earlier in the kitchen, the kids were asking about the age difference between my brother Adam and me and I explained to the kids that I am 9 years older than him, and that is why I remember playing with him so much as a baby. That is part of the reason Adam and I have always been tight. I remember holding him for hours as a toddler teaching him to point out where his ears, nose, hair, and eyes were. Asking him what a cow said and listening to him go “boooooo” instead of the normal “mooo” sound. And then watching the stream of drool that would endlessly run down his front. Adam was always covered in drool as a teething toddler!
I recalled this conversation in my answer to Reegan’s question:
“You know how we were just talking about how I was 9 when Adam was born? Well, you’re the same age as I was when Adam was born, and I remember how much I loved growing up with babies. I know how much you want more siblings too, and I wish I could give that to you. I do not feel like a ‘normal’ mom that gets to have more babies.”
Reegan deserved the honesty, and the words were hard to get out and did not come without tears. My internal monologue was something like “It’s okay to let her see the tears Rachel, you’re not going to scar her by letting her see this struggle. Just let it out.”
This is part of the real pain and vulnerability a parent wants to avoid with their children, and for whatever reason it feels unnatural to let them in on. But I am learning that desire to avoid is not the way that God would have me stifle my suffering, and the opportunities that come with it. It’s as if he is saying “let her in.”
Reegan, with quiet tears, responded; “You’re not a normal mom, you’re better than a normal mom.”
Uh, was someone coaching her? Had Jamison somehow gotten to her and given her a script? Was she wearing an earpiece?! Okay I knew none of that was true, I just could not believe her compassion and kind words.
She continued talking, reminiscing about how having a big family would be fun and how cool it was that I had so many siblings, but then proceeded to count the blessings and joys of being our little Dye family of just 5, and all the fun things we get to do more frequently because we are a smaller family like more trips and vacations.
She continued; “I just feel like it’s hard though, because you have had cancer the last 4 years which is most of my life that I can remember, and I feel like I’m just getting to know you and learn your personality when you’re a cancer-free you.”
Is she 9 or 19?! I wondered. “Close your mouth, Rachel.” Said my inner critic.
I took a moment and then responded to her. “Yeah, I think the hardest thing for me is giving up what I think our lives should look like, and letting God write the story. This is not the way I would have planned it. Our family has been praying about adoption, but I think this is God saying not quite yet.”
Reegan replied “I think you’re taking this really well.”
… Thank you? Lol. I am not sure how it happened, but I gave birth to someone entirely cooler than me. I could not believe that God had so richly blessed me through this little person He crafted.
We talked a little while longer about expectations, hope, the future, adoption, and the gospel.
And in the end the child comforted the parent. It was hard and beautiful.
I am one grateful momma.