What Strength Really Looks Like

There are many things that happened these past 2 weeks that prompted me to write this. I think from an outsider looking in, you don’t get a clear picture of how things are really going. Much of the time, everything looks like it’s going ok, because that’s what cancer parents do. Everything we focus on, everything we post, everything we say to everyone else is the positive. If you don’t constantly focus on the positive, this will take you under and you will drown. However, inside these walls, there’s a lot people don’t see and a lot people don’t understand.

Going through this process, there are things that Jason and I hear a lot from friends and family. Things like…

“Kids are so resilient.”

“Everything will be okay.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“All of this is part of God’s plan.”

And then there’s this….

“You are so strong, I don’t know how you are doing this.”

So I want to start with a story. The night before we were admitted to JH with Cooper’s diagnosis, Jason and I were sitting at dinner and talking. That day, I had seen a post that a friend of mine on Facebook had shared about a woman who had just had a baby the exact same time that I had Evyn. Her little baby boy was diagnosed with and fighting neuroblastoma. I started following her story.  I had no idea who this woman was or where she lived. That night at dinner,  I uttered almost those exact words to Jason. I told him about the little boy and his mother, and I said, “I couldn’t imagine. I could never be that strong. God bless her, because I could never do that.”

Fast forward to 2 days later. Our first afternoon at Hopkins inpatient, my parents and Jason’s parents had brought Evyn to the hospital so we could see her. I was walking down the hall with her to get a cup of coffee. I turned the corner and looked that woman that Jason and I were talking about 2 nights before right in the eyes as she was carrying her baby down the hall. She was so friendly and said hi to me because she recognized that we were new on the oncology floor. I felt terrible and rude, because I literally stared at her in disbelief like a deer in headlights. I later spoke to her and told her this story, and how it shocked me to come face to face with her in our new situation.

Life has a way of humbling you and taking you a step back. Just 2 days ago, I had said “I could never do that. I could never be that strong.” Here I am….Now instead of following her story as an outsider like I was at dinner, I now see her regularly at the hospital and we make small talk  while making coffee about how the week is going, how our kids are  responding to treatment, because here I am….right down the hall also navigating this beast the best I know how.

But let me tell you the truth. I’m not as strong as you think I am.  

I’m only doing what every other parent would do in my situation…it’s just that most of you probably haven’t walked in our shoes, and I pray that you never will. If you are one of the few who have had to hear the words, “your child has cancer,” all I can say is, my heart is with you and you truly “get it” in a world where no one else does.

Throughout this journey, you’re not given a choice. You don’t get decide to be strong or not be strong. You NEVER think you’re going to be strong enough to handle this, but you do it.

You never think you are strong enough to get a diagnosis that changes your life. 

You never think you are strong enough to explain to your child why they don’t get to be a normal kid, why they can’t go to school, can’t leave the house, can’t play sports.

You never think you are strong enough to watch your child receive more chemo than an adult would receive, and you watch the side effects set in, you hold them through it knowing there is nothing you can do to fix it or make it better. 

You never think you are strong enough when you’re up all night worrying about a fever and whether you kid needs to be airlifted or driven to the hospital, and that decision is on your watch.

You never think you are strong enough when you always choose one child’s needs over the needs of your other children.

You never think you are strong enough to see and hear about families going through normal every day kid problems, and wish with all your heart that was you.

You never think you are strong enough when you watch another mother lose her child to this awful disease that no one deserves.

But you do it.

You never think you can do any of these things. I have never felt like I am strong during any of this. While I have never felt strong, I have learned and tried to accept the fact that I am enough. Most days enough is the best that I can be. Being enough and being strong are very different.

Here is something about strength that I know to be true. Strong is my child. Strong are the children I see every day in that hospital. 

Strong are the children that get needles, and surgeries as frequently as most kids go to soccer practice.

Strong are the children who are faced with adversity every single day and still manage to smile. 

Strong are the children who look at you and tell you “it’s going to be okay,” when you the parent have to tell them that you’re sorry for what their life has become.

Strong are the children who are on so much medication and poison that they lose every sense of themselves.

Strong are the children who are forced to mature well beyond their years because they were handed this.

Strong are the children who never complain and never feel victim to their situation and never ask “why me?”

I am not strong. My child is. If you ever get the chance to look a child in the eyes who is fighting this battle, it will change you forever. It will change how you view the world, how you view petty problems. It will change the things that you once viewed as strong because it changes your perspective. Perspective is everything.

xo Kristy