Growing up in the pink

Today is my baby’s 11th birthday. He was 2 when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer and was still in diapers. This means for 9 years I’ve been looking at him and bursting into tears, thinking that I won’t live to see him grow up. When he went into kindergarten, I thought I had less than a year left to live and had to make the overwhelming decision on whether to put him in for whole or ½ day. My mother said I had to start making decisions based on if I was going to be sick or well, and that I couldn’t live in the in-between world anymore. So I decided I was going to be well, and put him in ½ day so that I could have afternoons with him like I did with his sister and brother, and prayed for the best.

On the third day of school, they thought it would be best for the kids if the parents weren’t let into the playground anymore, so I said good bye and got extra kisses at the gate. I will never forget looking through the fence, gripping the metal links until my fingers hurt. He was playing happily with his new friends, looking back to wave several times. I wasn’t the only parent crying there, but I was the only one with this reason; that moment was just like our life.  My life with cancer has put me a distance away, watching and waiting.

He thought he had come up with the most brilliant plan when he was 6 and announced at lunch “I know! If mom dies, Dad can marry again and I can have a step-mom!” (I was secretly happy that nobody else at the table thought that was a good idea at the moment.) Every year I never know when to have the talk with his teacher to explain why he draws pink ribbons on everything and likes to share his knowledge of which breast cancer organizations donate the most to research.  It is guaranteed to be awkward.

Growing up with cancer is all that he has known and it really has been his childhood. He has seen me speak to drug companies, and be honored at fashion shows, baseball, basketball and pink hockey games. He has done public service announcements and photo shoots with me, met WWE wrestlers, and painted tiles across America.

So much of Hunter’s childhood I have spent sad, nostalgic, and even frantic at times. In one way I have treasured every minute with him and tried to squeeze out every drop life has to offer, but in another way there have been wasted moments in sadness. Our beautiful trip to Hawaii was so bitter sweet that the pictures are hard to look at. So many times I have hugged him so tightly and wondered who his first love will be, what will he do when he grows up, will he have a family? Will I get to see it? How much of it? Is it ever enough?

But this is him. This is me. This is our life; and for however long or short it is, I’ll take it.   img_9141

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