Reflecting on Childhood Cancer Awareness Month #ccam

 

Today is September 10th.

Go to www.boxrun.org to make a donation

 

It's a special day because across the world a local childhood cancer ambassador, Mike Strange, is running with Brookie in mind.

 

Today is an otherwise normal average day.

 

School.

Work.

Dance class.

Maybe even a Blue Jays game on TV.

 

Our life is so normal.

So average.

I've never been so grateful.

 

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month is very difficult and triggering for my husband and I. It's immensely painful to hear stories about other children who are no longer here on this earth. The truth is, it hurts our hearts, it cuts us to the core.

 

We see our own family in theirs.

Our own daughter in their child.

We know it could have been us.

It's impossible to know why our child survived.

It's nauseating to consider her relapsing.

 

People often say, childhood cancer is their worst nightmare and they couldn't imagine their child becoming sick.

 

Well guess what?

It's even more horrendous than you can imagine. Right now, at this very moment there are children so very sick they cannot eat or play, laugh or go to school. We have seen more families suffer, more adults and children endure anxiety, depression, divorce and PTSD than anyone would like to admit.

 

You know what else?

We've also seen the best in people. We've seen unwavering love, unrepayable kindness, gestures of faith and deep heartfelt support by people like Mike, along with countless others.

 

It's really incredible to consider how something so awful can bring out such authentic goodness in people. Stop for a moment and reflect on the fact.

__

 

I've learned not to question life or God, as the cyclical nature of those questions leads only to suffering. I've learned to simply accept, then appreciate life.

 

The insanity of busy, because that means my kids are healthy and following their dreams.

 

The late nights when I can't fall asleep, because I am home in my bed and not cramped in a hospital room chair.

 

The burgeoning grocery bills, because my children are eating nutritious food and not ordering off the cafeteria menu.

 

The many (many) overwhelming days where nothing feels right, because I now know what it truly feels like for everything to be terribly, terribly wrong.

 

So to Mike Strange, and all childhood cancer ambassadors working hard this month to raise awareness and funds for our kids, thank you. Together we will continue to walk tall, support the families in crisis, care for our beautiful warriors and honour every single child who looks down from the highest heaven.

 

Xo

 

#CCAM #childhoodcancer #warriorprincess #morethan4 #gogold

 

 

Here stands the good

I remember the day, the hours, the moments.

We believe she has cancer.
We must do more tests.
She requires chemotherapy.
We need to move quickly.

I remember that afternoon, in the OR.
Desperately trying to calm her.

She was screaming at the doctors.
Name calling.
Pure terror.

I remember holding her.
Tight.
Down to the bed.
Still.

Begging her to calm down.
Telling her she would be ok.

I remember.
I can't forget.

On Monday, I was fortunate to experience this.


Brookie as she boarded the boat for OuR Island, Camp Trillium.































My beautiful girl.
Healthy now, and two years older.
So wise and mature.
Yet so young and unknowing.

I want to go.
I can do this alone.
I'm not nervous.

Off she went.
Stone-faced.
To camp.
Alone.

The girl who held me so tightly, two years ago, is now free.

Free to grow.
Free to trust others.
Cancer-free.

It's such a beautiful gift, and such an amazing new memory to hold.

Next to the bad, here stands the good.
The opportunity.
Her life.

My God, we are so blessed.

They need so much less than we think

Tonight we had an extra long dinner as a family.
It wasn't a fancy meal, or a well-planned all-natural organic creation.

It was just food, on plates.
Knapins and water cups.

Some ketchup for good measure.

But tonight our meal lasted for what felt like forever, because we sat down and planned our bucket list for the rest of this year, using a simple prompt sheet I had printed four months earlier (with good intentions).

It took us until today, but we did it.
And it was worth every minute of conversation.

We laughed as we brainstormed.
Teased each other.
Cracked jokes.

We opened our minds and hearts to new possibilities.
Shared with each other the things we'd love to see and do.

It filled my soul.

Three hours later all I keep thinking about is this:

We trade time for money,
spend it on piles of accumulation and call it wealth.

We work so damn hard,
exchange it for so little quality family time and call it a life.

We dedicate ourselves to higher education,
then fail to revel in the words of a four year old because we are rushing and distracted.

Our kids need us now.
Today.

They need our presence.
Not presents.
They need to sit around a table of people who love them.

They need to SEE US.
Be with us.
Be held by us.

No amount of wealth, no advanced education, not even a burgeoning career can provide for our children what they need right now, as little humans.

They need us.

Their mamas.
Their daddies.
Their aunties and uncles and grandparents and special relatives.

They need time.
A relaxed, positive space to speak openly and honestly about their hopes and dreams.

They need love.
Unwaivering, always-present words which clearly articulate the depth of our affection for them.

They need peace.
Space in their hearts and minds which is uncluttered by accumulation, overscheduling and unrealistic lifestyles driven by must-have brands and toys.

They need so much less then we think they do.

Less.
Is.
More.

Tonight, over an extra long family
 dinner, I was reminded of this.

Don't believe me?

Give your kids more time, more cuddles and more opportunities to speak freely.
You'll see what I see, I promise.