For a while now, I've been getting readings that my life would change dramatically in the Fall of 2018. Silly me, I thought this meant romance, travel or creative endeavors, but instead, it was more life altering than anything I could have imagined: my younger son has been diagnosed with Anaplastic Large Cell Lymphoma. Of course, it's a rare type, as he is anything but usual. Always has been. I joke he is aging in reverse like Benjamin Button (he just turned 25) or that he is doing his best to age me (in the hospital, they thought I was his sister, wife, friend, anything but mom). Humor is how I cope with things, and you will know I am okay because I still crack jokes.
This is a scary journey. It is beyond difficult for me to watch my son in unrelenting pain. Me, who can't even handle a paper cut, and who asked for drugs immediately during childbirth. I have been in awe of the grace in which he has handled this. A diagnosis has given us focus, and has brought into sharp relief all that matters: family, love, friendship and purpose. All else is noise and falls away.
There have been achingly beautiful moments. The quiet of his breathing when he falls asleep. The care with which the nurses handled his many needs. The hugs they gave me in the hallways as fellow moms. My Mom Mode had been hibernating, and has been brought roaring back in full force. I am in Mama Bear mode (the bear is my spirit animal, go figure). Alert for everything, wanting the best for him, keeping an eye on my eldest, ready to stand guard over the two of them until I can't anymore.
I am no martyr. Being a mom is the core of me, and my children are my North, my guiding star. I do what any other mother would do, and know no other way.
I have been overwhelmed with the love and care of friends and chosen family, near and far. I have felt their love envelop us, and repeat their written messages as a mantra when I need distraction. This is a long journey, but so many have it so much worse. I repeat gratitude daily for the little things. It helps.
I can't believe cancer has touched our life. Yet it's also no surprise, as cancer touches everyone, it seems. It is insidious and cold. But it will not win. It.will.not.win.
Magic still enters my life, as it always does. Yesterday, I had my aura photographed. I resisted for a while, joking that it would probably photograph black, so what's the point. Yet something compelled me to do it, and what happened next even surprised the photographer. Most people see red or orange when they can see my aura, yet the photograph revealed a different color: chartreuse. The description for that color was as follows: Energy, sparkle, creator from joy, explosive creator, bubbly energy, The Healer. I felt immediate peace. I am in my Mom Mode, and the healing is what I need to be focused on these next few months. The photographer said she rarely sees that color, but I wasn't very surprised. My child has a rare lymphoma and it's up to me to help him, with whatever healing gifts I have.
So my focus for the next few months is taking care of him and my work. I have canceled all my workshops and events, and am keeping my writing to what I can handle, which is the bare minimum. This forces me to be in the moment, a practice I have been cultivating for years. It helps. The next five minutes, the next few moments, the next few breaths. It makes the rest less scary. Last night, as he was not feeling well, I rubbed my son's back. Underneath I felt a very strong core. My senses have been on hyper alert, so I lingered there to make sure of what I was experiencing. It was there. I know he will overcome this, and his prognosis is good. My life has certainly changed, and definitely not in the way I expected. His life is being transformed, as is mine. The lessons we will both learn will no doubt enhance us in many ways. Our story is one of many who go through similar and worse, and the journey continues. Thank you for reading. And for caring.
