Yesterday was my wife’s second year as the mother of a cancer kid. While this year has been easier than last, there is still the challenge of watching your child fight cancer.
Childhood Cancer has changed Mother’s Day forever for my wife.
Last year we were in Atlantic Beach with the Mile of Hope foundation. It was a great trip that would have been better only had Harrison not been so sick. He couldn’t yet swallow his pills so we were crushing terribly-tasting medicine and putting it in peanut butter. Incidentally, Harrison will NOT eat peanut butter. Probably ever again. But I digress.
For the mother of a cancer kid, Mother’s Day is yet another reminder of how life is different for you, for your family, for your child. While Harrison is currently feeling well, his health could nosedive in an instant. Of course, any child could suffer an accident, but your cancer kid is in the middle of a fight already. His daily dose of Gleevec is the only medical treatment for his cancer, and there is no history of its use in children with his leukemia.
What if it stops working? What if the cancer mutates?
These are the questions a cancer mom faces every day, and those questions only become more apparent on Mother’s Day. You aren’t like the other moms who are celebrating with the healthy children.
And at the same time my wife hurts for other moms. There is no woman I know who is more compassionate than my wife. She would give every penny of our income and every ounce of her energy for someone else’s benefit. And as she hurts for her little boy and suffers as his mother, she can’t help but hurt for mothers in the childhood cancer community who will not even be with their child this Sunday.[bctt tweet=”#ChildhoodCancer has changed Mother’s Day forever” via=”no”]
Whose daughter or son was struck down by one of these terrible diseases called pediatric cancer…
Whose child is hospitalized due to treatment…
Whose child is in palliative care because there is “nothing more they can do”…
Whose child can no longer walk, or see, or hear, or run and play because of the barbaric treatment we call chemotherapy…
For that mom who lives without the hope found only in Jesus Christ.
For that mom who mourns a child.
For that mom, my wife will hurt this Mother’s Day.
Ginger is a woman of great hope. She is an optimist. She will be a blessing to her husband and children every day, and Mother’s Day will be no different.
And beneath her brilliant smile (that won her a smiling competition in elementary school) will be a heart that aches. That aches for her own son. That aches for the thousands of kids fighting cancer. That aches for the moms who are hurting because of cancer. That aches for the mom whose yesterday was the first without their child.
And while her kids and I try to be a blessing to her, she’ll simply pass it on. Because she is like that. It is who she is. And of all the things I love about the mother of my children it is this: she will love others like herself. And her quiet and godly living will be a testimony to her children that the mercies of God are new every morning, that our God is faithful, that others are more important that we are.
Rarely does a day go by that I don’t pray that my children will grow up to be like my wife. A woman whose quiet and godly life is a testimony to the grace of God.
Happy Mother’s Day, Ginger.