A Mother's Mind

When your child has a cold, you give them cold medicine. A headache gets Advil. A fever gets Tylenol. A scrape gets a band-aid and a kiss. A bad dream gets a cuddle in bed. You do anything you can to make the aches and pain go away. You keep as positive as you can for your child so they aren't scared but your mind tends to wander. Mine does.

Cancer is a different kind of story. I can't put a band-aid on, kiss it better and make the monster go away. I can sit and hold my son's hand as he gets chemo therapy. I can give him a kiss as he drifts off into a medicated sleep for radiation. But I can't take it away. And as positive as I stay for him, I can't stay out of my own mind.

My mind has been my enemy since we found out our son had cancer. It wanders, it assumes, it expects the worst. It creates scenarios that (I hope) I never have to experience.

Over the last two months, my mind has shown me nightmares. Like I've said before, sleep isn't a common occurrence in my world these days. For a long time, at the beginning of all of this, I would close my eyes at night and see a casket. Every night there was a casket. And in that casket was my baby's beautiful, lifeless body. I would picture myself standing next to it, dressed head to toe in black. I would feel myself in sobs, tears forming in my eyes while I tried to fall asleep. Other nights we would be laying in his bed at home, watching him take his last breath. I've seen myself laying on his bed, holding his blanket and favorite bear, going days without eating or moving because my heart has a hole in it. Or laying at his grave site, telling him stories about the things he's missed. I could feel the emptiness so much that the dream felt real. I closed my eyes and watched my son die more times than I can count. I would lay awake in bed for hours at a time, scared to close my eyes and scared to fall asleep.


The mind is an interesting thing. For me, as a mother, I want nothing more than for my child to be happy, healthy and alive. I want to take away his hurt and his sickness and let him be a regular, four year old little boy. I want to do everything I can to keep him safe. My mind wanders. It creates terrible, scary and horrifying thoughts. I can push them out now, write them down for everyone to see and be ok. And when I can't, I watch my son and I get a glimpse of his mind instead.

A child's mind. It is beautiful, playful, innocent. Powerful and contagious. It is in my son's mind that I can find comfort and happiness. His mind doesn't see him being sick and in pain. It doesn't see the stress he is going through every day. His mind sees playfulness and joy. He wakes up everyday and wants to play. He can spend an entire day playing with his Transformers, playing the smelly foot game and giggling with us. He can walk in to the hospital playroom or to the "skating rink" and be ready to play. He can talk about going home his numbers go up and do it all with a smile. He lives each day for the moment, that precious moment where he learns to transform a certain bot or takes an extra few steps down the hall. He lives for his trips to the toy store and eating gummies. He doesn't look ahead with distain or fear. He looks ahead with wonder and curiosity.

My son's mind. It's innocent. It's powerful. It's contagious. His positivity and optimism are incomparable. His strength and stoicism are magical. His mind is the reason my mind has allowed me to see past the dark. To see past the terrifying. To see past the hurt and the scared. His mind lets me see the light, the happy and the proud. His mind lets me feel hope.