Dear Cancer Sibling

When cancer hits, it never hits just one.

While it inhabits one body, it hits all.

This week, I watched my daughter play with her cancer sibling. She’s 11 and is exactly the beautiful, frustrating conundrum you’d expect of that age, but in the one moment she held Chase in her arms, anything juvenile melted instantly.

When she holds Chase, she knows nothing, but she knows everything. Into that moment of holding go years of pain, suffering, frustration, and love far beyond anything we would have imagined or desired for a pre-teen.

Watching the expression on her face – half-sister, half-mother – it caused me to recall that she’s one of many. …and the many are on my heart today. So, siblings, this is for you.

Dear Cancer Sibling,

I may not know you, but I want you to know that I see you.

I see the pain of wondering of a beloved playmate is going to die.

I see that pain in your heart while the other kids your age don’t hardly understand the words let alone the concept.

I see you standing in the doorway of your house…a friends house…a grandparents house…while we, your parents and protectors pull out of the driveway and go to another doctor, another hospital, another appointment without you.

I see you standing quietly in the halls of the hospitals while doctors and nurses buzz around and make a deal about seemingly everything and everyone but you.

I see you in the shadows of the flashing lights when the only words they’ll tell you are “it’s okay” and “stay out of the way”.

I see how hard you work on that skill, that task, that sport…all for that one event someone will take pictures of and send to your absent parents.

I see you hiding in your room, trying to drown out the screams of a small child getting a needle plunged into their chest.

I see your frustration when your broken, sick sibling that you love so dearly hurts you as if they don’t care.

I see the guilt when you have a moment of resentment or wishing it all could have been different. It’s okay… we all have those.

I see the playgrounds and school halls through your eyes as you protectively and with a righteous anger watch social situations go over your atypical siblings heads or behind their backs.

I see you crouch low over their bed and tell them it’s going to be okay because you’re there.

I see you talking to and playing with the air in front of you as you live out their memories and remember their presence.

I see you watch the same movie, listen to the same song, paint with the same color over and over again just because it’s a fixated comfort.

I see you being the one who doesn’t get the special gift or amazing experience.

I see you stand helplessly by and watch grown men and women sob scarily and uncontrollably.

I see you having a different, often less understood life from the other kids around you.

I see you marking birthdays and holidays with an empty chair at the table.

I see you visiting a cemetery while your friends visit a park.

But here’s what else I see…

I see your bravery.

I see your unconditional love.

I see you standing up when you’d rather fall down.

I see you stepping up when you’d rather sit down.

I see the hard things developing justice and mercy in equal, beautiful parts of your soul.

I see you living out the truth that no child should ever be left out; left behind.

I see you developing a sensitivity to others beyond that of your peers.

I see hints and teases of who you will someday become and it takes my breathe away.

You will hold the world and you will run it.

Today, you may feel like the one abandoned, but one day soon, you will be the one who includes, who leads, who fights, who dominates and you’ll be able to point back to these moments when it felt like nobody saw you and you’ll say: “This was when I grew.”

So quietly, bravely grow, my dear cancer siblings…

You are seen and we can’t wait to experience the incredible person you become.

Love,

Your Parents