Told the Kids

"Today is a dark and sad day" - Gracie, 8.

 We've been keeping "cancer" a secret from the kids. Thank you, all, for helping us with that! We didn't feel the time was right to tell them, until today.  We appreciate your respect to  honor our wish for the right time.

As if there is a right time to tell your kids that you have cancer.

Just a reminder: The kids are our daughters: Gracie, 8; and Libby, 5.  Our grandson is Charlie, 3.

Today we sat the kids down and told them everything. We told them that Mommy/Grandma has breast cancer.  I have bad cells in my body that escaped from my boobs and got away. They went into my body and we can't catch them.  They will make me very very sick if we don't clobber them and kill them.

We told them that I will be taking medicine called chemo. It is a very special medicine that will make me better by killing the cancer, but while it kills the cancer I will feel very tired and sick. We told them I will have to take chemo medicine all summer long, until Libby's birthday when she turns 6. We told them that I won't be a lot of fun. They'll have to go do some fun things and leave me at home.

We told them that I will lose my hair. All of my hair will fall out. This seems to have been the hardest part for them. They all reacted to that. I told them I will look like Uncle Eddy.  Gracie offered to buy me a wig. Libby said she will get me a yellow hat.  Charlie offered to rub sunscreen on my head.  They were all shocked but very compassionate.

Lexie read them a book and it explains the cells in the body like puzzle pieces, or like Legos. They all fit together and work together, but cancer cells have a bad attitude and make mommy sick. The chemo will make me sick too, but only because it is killing the cancer.  The book also says that I will be like a tree in the winter, losing my leaves and being bald until spring.  The seasons are opposite, but the analogy is a good one.

We made sure to emphasize with all of them that there are different kinds of cancer. There is the kind of cancer that makes you die. And there is the kind I have, the kind that needs medicine to make it go away and then I will be all better.

Their eyes were big, their questions were few.  They all look like their brains were whirring and spinning thoughts around inside. I'm sure there will be more questions later. We told them to ask questions if they have any. And if they feel like they need a hug, come get one. We are all here for each other.  I also told them that their teacher at school knows about it and she will hug them anytime they are having a sad day. I told Gracie to write her feelings in a journal.

Gracie said, "It's weird, but I really wanna smile right now." She went off to find her joke book and make some popcorn. She wanted to watch Star Wars too.  I'm so thankful that she has her big sense of humor to get her through hard times! That will be an asset to her as life throws her curve balls as it sometimes does.

Libby was quiet. She asked a few questions, but they were general. She wanted to know how I would take the chemo medicine and so I told her about the IV and the port. She was wondering if I would have to spend the night in the hospital again. I don't think I'll have to.

Charlie paid attention very well. I told him that I won't always be able to go with him when him and his mom do fun things. He might have to go without me and let me take a nap. He nodded in agreement. He wanted to know if it would be funny when I'm bald, and I told him he can help me find a hat to wear.  He went to go play, and ten minutes later had a meltdown about something insignificant and unrelated to our discussion.

Not one of them asked about Sandy. They all know that Sandy had cancer, she had an operation, and her cancer didn't go away. It got worse.  Sandy died from her cancer.  We are all still heartsick over losing Sandy last summer.  The kids have only had that one experience with cancer and I'm not aware of any of them ever hearing about it in another context. I was sure that they would immediately think of Sandy and compare my treatment with, and assume my outcome might be the same. I don't want to scare my kids, but they will be afraid as I am. I don't want them to worry, but they will. I don't want them to grow up too fast, but this will make a young child a lot older. I'm sure they will all remember Sandy soon enough and ask about my cancer compared to her cancer.

It's the hardest thing in the world to look your children in the eyes and say to them, "I have cancer."

*Me and my brother, Ed. Soon to be my twin.