Another mom who has cancer once told me that this is their story too, and to let them process it in their own way. For us, using play therapy with a specialist was so important for Harrison. He really thrived in that environment and was able to express his fears and learn to cope. It helped me, too- knowing that he had this resource and getting feedback that he was managing his stress well.
I really hesitated to add this next part because I’m not sure how it will come across. It’s a complex thought for me and I’m not quite sure how to explain it properly. I love both of my children deeply- but you probably notice I didn’t mention my sweet daughter very much above. Mostly because she was so little when I was diagnosed that I didn’t have to agonize over what to tell her or the questions and fears she might have. I just had to make sure all her needs were met and she felt safe. She didn’t know any different.
Having a mommy that couldn’t carry her car seat up the stairs, or that wasn’t home sometimes, or that laid down on the floor as she played with her blocks was simply normal. I’m not sure if the thought of this being standard for her is reassuring because she didn’t have to adjust or depressing because of all she missed out on. Here’s the part I’m afraid to admit- I pushed her away. I was so crippled with the fear of dying that I think I unconsciously held her at a distance… just in case. It already hurt too much worrying about leaving my husband and son, the three of us had been going strong for a while.
I just didn’t know what would happen- and I think I was just trying to protect my heart as much as I could. I was mad at cancer, mad that it showed up right after I realized my dream of completing my family, mad that it made me stop breastfeeding my baby and left me too exhausted to have those sweet late night bonding moments, mad that everyone else around me had to suffer because of my diagnosis.
