Too much excitement just might kill me!
This morning, all I see in my Facebook feed is the story of Indie Rose. Diagnosed with leukemia at just 3 months old, she passed away in her mother’s arms last night. It breaks my heart. I look at my boy sleeping in my arms, and it makes me physically sick to imagine that he never woke up. That I could never hold him again, or see his smile or hear him laugh. For a brief moment, we could have been that close, and it terrifies me. I didn’t know Indie or her family, and I know she is one of many children this year who will lose their battle with cancer. It is outrageously unfair that something so awful can happen to anyone so young. These kinds of stories are really starting to hit me now. I think that I have never really grieved for what happened to Monkey, and now, closing in on 2 years since his diagnosis, it is all starting to come out. When you’re in the middle of it, you just have to get on with it, be strong for your baby. And when you learn you’re one of the lucky ones who gets to keep their beloved child, it feels inappropriate to ever be sad. But I am sad. I remember that cold hand clenching my heart, being unable to catch my breath, wondering if I was going to have to watch my baby die. And now when I read these stories, it all comes flooding back. I feel it again, and I cannot shake it.When anyone is around, I have to hold it in, ignore the pain and put on a brave face. But in those very rare moments of solitude, it is now starting to come out. And I’m afraid that once I start, I will not be able to stop. Yet I cannot look away, either. I have to read, I have to know something, anything, about these children’s stories. It is the least I can do for them.