While Valentine’s is a day for lovers, I think it is also a day to celebrate love wherever it strikes. Certainly, when the health of the child we love is threatened, no matter what their age, love kicks into high gear. But sometimes there is a ferocity to that love that can be intimidating to others—even to the one we are trying to help. Especially in the early days of Melanie’s diagnosis, I often wondered whether my actions were going to be considered too intrusive or too passive. I remember wanting to push for a second opinion when she wasn’t sure it was necessary. Or the time Chris and I were ready to sit on top of the desk at the hospital nurse's station to get Melanie her long over due meds. At times raging inside, I was not sure whether I was helpful or downright embarrassing to her. (Probably some of both.)
It is kind of staggering to know that love can be the source of such anger. A well-meaning person tells me that at least my daughter had the “good” kind of cancer. (REALLY?!? I don't seeing much good in this situation at all, thank you very much.) Do not even get me started on some of the God talk--"God must have wanted you out of work now so that you could take care of Melanie." Seemed to me that God would be with me (and with Melanie) whether I was working or not. Now Melanie and I can laugh about some of the but well intentioned but careless things people said and did, but then it felt surreal and out of control.
Mom (and Dad) love can be fierce and angry, but it is that same intensity that lets us vividly recall those people who held our hands and supported us with prayers and cards and hugs. It helps us celebrate another year together and reminds us that every day holds meaning. To moms, dad, lovers, partners, friends, to those who are tired, and angry, loving fiercely as you negotiate the cancer cycle with a young adult cancer survivor, I send you hugs.
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