Today was my mom's first round of chemo, and I have determined myself to be a part of her treatment. The last time she battled through chemo, Madalyn was still a tiny tot, David was in pre-school, and I was just plain unable to be there. This time, the situation is quite different. I have from 8 until 3 everyday, and if I can make a treatment to sit and visit with both my mom and dad, that's what I'll do. I had my own appointment to attend at 10:30, and then I headed straight over to the Kirklin Clinic, the eighth wonder of the world.
I found my mama in a room amidst dozens of patients all covered in the same beige hospital blankets. Some were sleeping, some snacking, some reading or listening to music. Some were alone. Maybe some had loved ones outside waiting on them, but I knew that not all of them did. Some were literally all alone. Some had hair. Some did not. There were men and women, all variations of skin color, and all shapes and sizes and ages. Cancer shows no favoritism.
The smile on my mom's face when she saw me made the battle through the traffic of crazy downtown Birmingham worth every second and muttered foul word. I will be there next time and each time after that. I guess I want to share the experience with her as much as I can. Since I can't take the cancer away from her, I'll sit beside her. We'll talk and laugh. We'll visit as though we're sitting in her living room on her comfy couch. Today, we shared a cookie. That, my friends, is about as normal as it gets for me and mom... enjoying chocolate.
A couple of weeks ago, my husband shared with me the story of a little girl, my daughter's age, battling cancer. It's the daughter of a women he knew through his old job, and he reminded me that we had met at a car function when we were both pregnant. I remembered the mom, and I found the support group on Facebook a few days later and began following her Caring Bridge site.
Little Lindsey met Jesus this afternoon. How sweet for her; how immensely painful for her parents and family. I can't wrap my brain around losing my precious Madalyn. I can't imagine not seeing her big brown eyes every morning, sleepy still stuck in the corners. I can't imagine not fighting with her over what she'll wear (or not wear) to school. I can't imagine not seeing her grow up, become a woman, and have a couple of kids of her own. Do you see why the sadness is the sticky air around me today...
I am asking anyone reading this post, where ever you may be, to pray for this family that just lost their Lindsey today. Let's just cover them in prayer. I don't really know them, but I feel so compelled to ask for prayers on their behalf.
You know, cancer really sucks, in case you haven't already figured that out.