There’s no damn timeline

Grief is forever.

You get that yet. I am still trying to accept this myself. Today is the 11th anniversary of Xavier’s tumour diagnosis and I am still crying at the thought of us rushing him to McMaster hospital for emergency brain surgery.

Some years this day and those that follow go by without a thought. Other years like 2021, it is a painful time of remembrance.

I picture my sweet little baby laying on an operating table for 12 hours. His tiny fingers and toes limp with anesthesia under bright surgical lights. That moment I last kissed his soft round head before it was cut apart.

The trauma lives within me.

Xavier has been gone almost four years now and over a decade since his diagnosis. But I still grieve. I grieve the day that changed our family’s life forever. I grieve the life he should have lived had he not had cancer and the life my daughter, his twin should have lived.

Maybe it’s PTSD but I can still feel the pain and the fear of this day 11 years ago. I can’t help but put myself back in that hospital watching the doctors poke and prod my baby before he disappeared into the back hallways for a preop MRI.

I won’t apologize for my tears and I don’t need sympathy. I need to grieve and I need to cry. I need to remember my son - even when those memories hurt.

Comments

Kids need to be kids - even with cancer

No one wants to see their child hurt. But when you have a child with a serious medical condition, seeing your child in pain can often be a frequent occurrence. Physical pain is one thing - emotional suffering is another- one I had little experience with until recently. (Yes, I am struggling, so that's why I am writing!) When Xavier was initially diagnosed and treated for brain cancer, he was a baby. He couldn't talk, express his feelings or even remember the trauma he suffered. Now, he is older, smarter and more thoughtful - yet too young to understand. About a month ago we started to see a change in Xavier. He was different. His sleep patterns changed, he was lethargic and other symptoms arose that concerned us. An MRI was immediately scheduled, followed by appointments with multiple doctors. A lumbar puncture has now been scheduled. I am not concerned they will find more cancer. I am not worried there is anything physically wrong. What has me scared and heart broken i...

The dragon in his head

As far as my son knows, there was a dragon in his head. This dragon was big and scary and made him feel sick. But as far as my son knows, we stomped that dragon out. The idea of Xavier's cancerous tumour being a dragon in his head came from a movie that had been given to me by another mom of childhood cancer. Paul and The Dragon is a powerful 20-minute video of a young boy with cancer. Although it is generic (not about brain tumours), and there are no words, it is incredibly telling. For any family who has been through a similar experience, you will instantly connect with this boy and his family. And for my kids, who are very young and don't exactly understand medical terminology, the story is easy to understand and has provided a great foundation for how to talk to them about Xavier's journey with cancer. The movie was so popular among my kids that it became part of our regular Friday night movie rotation. My son even requested it while he was in the hos...

Feeding the fire

Buried deep within my soul is a fire. It burns slowly; smouldering inside me day after day. I long for the day when this fire rages again. Like it used to before I smothered it with life. Before kids, before mortgages, bills, illnesses and medical interventions, there was something else on my mind. It was fuelled by almost everything around me and grew stronger with every use. This was something that took me through dark spiralling tunnels, across cobalt blue seas with purple monkeys swimming and up mossy green mountains that whispered cool breezes. It sparked all my senses and tugged at my heart. It sent shivers down my spine and excitement in my belly. And sometimes it paid. My creativity was ignited by an imagination as unique as every snowflake that falls. The words came to me, the stories flowed and the imagery made sense. I created eloquent editorial and powerful prose. But somehow along the way I lost my creative spirit. I pushed it away. I pushed it down. I push...

The Book of Me

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