My postings have been a bit raw lately. It has actually been a very good summer. I love it when the kids make things for me at school. I save everything.
Well, one day John John gave me this ripped up paper. At first, I did not understand what it said. So, I asked him.”Mom, I made you this sign. You keep it, ok? ” Ok, no problem dude.
I laid it down on my lap and depicted the lines of a song. It read, will you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same if i saw you in heaven?
I think my heart shattered looking at that piece of paper. We don’t talk about it. When I hear of another child in my mommy cancer group, I start to think, what if it were my son? I can hardly look at some of the parents posts. It becomes so confusing when I say to myself, My kid is not going to die of this damn brain cancer. And then another child dies.
I only allow my brain to absorb as much as I can think about without crying. But, there it is on a ripped up sheet of paper…sitting on my desk. I cried.
Will you know my name? Dear Lord, my heart hurts for all of these kids. I know that John John thinks about it in the abstract. He somehow is relating it to himself. I think he is trying to get a little more understanding about death.
In this house, we do not talk about death often. Only life. I pray every day that it will never be John John. Life is so very precious a commodity in this house. We all have losses of different kinds. I was telling my husband a few weeks back about one of our friends in the cancer groups. A little boy. It took three weeks from when the cancer all over his body for him to get his place at Jesus feet. I saw that look on my husbands face. We were both thinking the same thing. He said one simple thing, “I can’t”.
I can’t either. there came a time that this whole brain cancer thing became not a thing in our house. We’re all so normal. Our family is what we spend time thinking of and living. Dying is just not part of it. MRI to MRI sometimes holding our breath. After an email or phone call, a sigh of relief, were back to normal. It’s intensely normal. School, homework, church, fun stuff to do, new things to explore. WE ARE NORMAL. At some point we have been desensitized to the words that are suppose to describe our son. He is not cancer. His name is not brain cancer. His life is not on a timeline any doctor can find. We are not measured, labeled, or succumbing to anything cancer-related.
I can’t explain why he handed me that sheet of crumbled, phonetically spelled words.
“Of course John, mommy will know your name in heaven. We will both be sitting at His feet. Everything is fine though. Ok?”
“Yeah Mom, I know. I love you so much.”
“I love you so much more than you really know.”