Like most people, we didn't make room in our dreams for cancer. And when it barged into our lives we didn't plan on it taking our little girl. At least not so soon. Follow this mom of four as she learns to live after child loss.
Monday, June 29, 2015
A Not-So-Simple Question
Note: This is the 11th update I made to Addison's CarePages site. The questions from the boys continue to this day. While they're heartbreaking to hear and sometimes impossible to answer, I hope they never stop.
Posted Jun 12, 2012 8:54am
What color is cancer exactly?
This was the topic of Isaac and my bedtime conversation last night.
Not exactly the typical exchange between a mother and her 5 year old, but nothing seems to be “typical” in our house these days.
“Mom, is cancer red?” he asked.
“No. It doesn’t really have a color.”
Which gave my mind a chance to do a little bit of reeling.
Color. Red. Color. Red. Color. Color. Color.
Suddenly, my mind stopped on the image of a little boy with a smattering of red on his index finger.
His first bloody nose.
“Isaac,” I asked. “Why do you think cancer would be red?”
“That red on your finger was a bloody nose [not cancer].”
And finally, “I just miss Addie so much.”
I know, Isaac. I do too.
This is the “new normal” in our house. The one coined by support groups and counselors and random pages I run across while surfing the Internet. The one that involves a 3 year old promising to take me in his Cozy Coupe to Heaven and God to see Addie. The one that has me (mistakenly) saying “OK.” The one that ends with me telling that 3 year old that we can’t go to Heaven after he sprints into the house yelling to his older brother, “Isaac, we’re going to go see Addie!”
Again, my mistake (and most certainly not the first one I’ve made when we started this journey two and a half months ago).
So, what’s a mother to do?
That’s a great question.
No one gave me a road map for the grieving process and (thankfully) we don’t know too many people who have traveled this lonely road.
So, I guess I do the best I can.
Give ‘em a squeeze and a peck. Tell them I love them. And leave them with the promise that we’ll blow Addie a few more bubbles tomorrow.