I hope you never have to hear the words “Your child has cancer”.
I hope you never have to hear “The prognosis is not good”.
I hope you never have to watch your child prepare to undergo
chemo, have a “port” surgically implanted in their chest, be connected to an IV pole, look at you with fear in their eyes and say, “Don’t worry Mom, it’s going to be okay.”
I hope you never have to hold your child while they vomit green bile.I hope you never have to feed them ice chips for lunch.
I hope you never have to watch the “cure” you pray for slowly take
away your child’s identity, as they, lose their hair, become skeletal, develop severe acne, become barely able to walk or move, and look at you with hope in their eyes and say, “It’s going to be okay Mom.”
I hope you never have to watch a family wandering aimlessly, minutes after their child’s body has been removed.
I hope you never have to use every bit of energy you have left, with all of this going on around you to remain positive, and the feelings of guilt, sorrow, hope, and fear overwhelm you.
I hope you never have to see your child’s head bolted to a table while they receive radiation.
I hope you never know what it is like to take you child home,
(grateful but so afraid) in a wheelchair because the chemo has damaged their muscles, 35 pounds lighter, pale, bald, and scarred, And they look at you with faith in their eyes and say, “It’s going to be okay Mom.”
I hope you never have to face the few friends that have stuck by you and hear them say, “Thank God it’s all over” because you know it will never be over.
Your life becomes a whirl of doctors, blood tests, and MRI’s, and you try to get your life back to normal while living in mind-numbing fear that any one of these tests could result in hearing the dreaded words “The cancer has returned”.
I hope you never have to experience any of these things. Because only then will you understand.
March 12, 2003
I would also like to add a few of my own.
I hope you never have to make the decision to end your child's life, while wondering if that miracle is around the corner.
I hope you never have to explain to a sibling that his best bud is not going to be with us anymore.
THANK YOU!!! To everyone who helped us out. Who stuck around. Who listened to us when we needed an ear. Who respected our decisions. Who do not judge our grieving process. Who brought us gifts. Who mailed us cards. Who took their time to stop by and help out. Who came to see us in the most difficult setting. Who flew across the country to meet us and take priceless pictures of our family. Who helped us move back home and bring our things in. Who brought me things at the hospital when I was unable to leave. Who took Dawson in when we couldn't keep him with us. Who left her family to live with us in the cities and help out.
Who came over when I called and said I can't be alone today. Who braved calling, even when there was nothing to be said. Who set up benefits and donated. Who got a Cars tatoo in his honor. Who named their baby after him. Who shares his pictures. Who still mentions his name and shares stories I haven't heard before. Who still sends cards. Who chats until late hours and keeps me distracted from the quiet house. Who still cleans my house when she comes over. Who watches my kids so I can do something theraputic for myself. Who gives me a hug with no words necessary. Who invited me in, called me, came to see me, without even knowing me.
I will forever remember all the wonderful people who have been involved in this process. YOU are a part of his story, one I will never forget. Tyler has brought a lot of people together. If not for him I wouldn't know half the friends I have today. Thank you for being there, and sticking with us.