We sat curled up on the bed – just her and me – the only two girls in this whole house full of boys.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Darcy’s nearly ten-year-old voice was calm as she described almost dispassionately what it was like to discover her two-year-old brother having a seizure when she was only six. And then, her tone changed and suddenly, like a full-fledged adult, a hand came up to her face as her eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry…I don’t know what happened. Sometimes I can’t talk about this without crying…”
Oh, how I know that feeling! Even when Chase is in the next room – living, breathing, and probably getting into trouble, the flashbacks can still take my breath away in an ordinary conversation.
Darcy and I ended up talking for a long time and crying some too, and it lead to these words… Because sometimes I forget how hard this is for her, Aidan, and Karsten.
![Aidan, Chase, and Darcy [photo credit: Jan Terry]](https://i0.wp.com/www.chaseawaycancer.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Siblings.jpg)
[photo credit: Jan Terry]
For the “cancer” siblings: especially the littles…
Set the tone for understanding — To a child, sickness (of any kind) is contagious. I didn’t know this until we talked, but that early Tuesday morning when Chase was taken to the ER and Darcy and Aidan cowered in the shadows of their room, Darcy kept watch over two places. She told me she’d go to the window and check to see if the paramedics had taken us out yet, and then she’d go back and check on Aidan to see if he was seizing too. She stood in the dark of the room and thought it could be all of them…all of us. It would be some time before she and Aidan fully understood that cancer could not be caught from or given to another person.
Presence can mean peace — They say nothing is worse than whatever you imagine and I think it may be true. We couldn’t always bring siblings to the hospital because Chase was in isolation so frequently, and our gut was to keep the very worst of diagnosis and treatment from them on some level, yet, Darcy told me that the times she felt most at peace were when she could either come to the hospital and see Chase personally, or when we’d FaceTime from our room in the oncology floor to Grammie’s house. She could see the IV cords and watch him vomit, but she could also see that he was alive and that was what brought her the most joy – just seeing he lived.
Set the paradigm — This one is kind of interesting to process because Bob and I actually didn’t have the luxury of telling our kids Chase had cancer. We were completely separated from them for a full week and their grandparents had to tell them before they found out from a third-party as loving friends surrounded them in those first days. But that being acknowledged, we’ve found (through trial and a lot of error) that explanations whenever possible can be very helpful. Whether it’s why Chase was getting gifts and special attention or why mom and dad seem so distracted, tired, or weepy, sometimes an age-appropriate conversation provided better understanding than pretending it wasn’t happening, brushing questions aside, or simply evening out special gifts among siblings. Our family motto has become: “There’s nothing we can’t talk about”. Hard, but good.
Help direct emotion — Chase’s siblings cannot live through all that they’ve seen and not be significantly changed. Whether it’s memories of me laying on a gurney clutching their motionless brother to my chest or listening to kids making fun of a post-treatment Chase behind his back, there is a lot of fear, hurt and anger. A lot. We spend a significant amount of time talking through how those feelings of fear or angry protection are a completely normal human reaction to what they’ve experienced, but it’s what they do with those feelings that will define them. We pray often that these things would make them and not break them, and that they would be strengthened in compassion and prepared to defend the weak because of what they’ve lived. And then we try and find ways to apply it to the every day.
Be prepared for deep feelings — This one surprised me and still does. Somehow, I expect that a lot of what we’ve gone through went over their heads. Not so – at all. They may not understand the word “terminal”, but they can sense it. There have been times that Darcy wanted to sit and talk and then others, like when she’s at school, where she hasn’t wanted to talk about Chase’s story at all, but she’s very aware of it and who she is in it. She explained that the kids don’t understand and the teachers all want to hug her and while she appreciates the love, both of those things make her feel very vulnerable. She doesn’t want to cry at school, but sometimes she needs to come home and just have a good cry over it.
Look for seasons of rest — Having a sibling with special cancer or neurological needs is as full-time for them as it is for us as parents. Whether it’s making a concession over parental attention, curtailed family activities, partaking in extra “cancer activities”, or interacting with a neurologically, emotionally, sometimes physically demanding playmate 24/7, I sometimes don’t even realize (in my own exhaustion) how tiring living with a cancer sibling is for my other kids. But Darcy could explain it to me; sharing how sometimes she can’t handle Chase anymore, but other times, she misses him and is slowly learning to listen to him when he demands her attention because he says things like “I’m a survivor, Dars!” (his pet name for her). And like adults, the siblings can have a layer of guilt over annoyance during a stressed family dynamic – especially when it’s towards a family member with a terminal illness. The guilt alone is exhausting.
There’s just no wrapping these things up. They’re messy and the dynamics continue to unfold as the kids change and grow and Chase lives on in his complications and joy. Some days are beautiful and could be used as parenting seminar illustrations and others feel like a complete wreck in which we need a bomb shelter rather than a house, but spending time with Darcy on this subject reminded me once again how good it is to just sit, talk, and pray together. We are not alone.
Moment by moment.
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” Psalm 90:12
