Listen

A friend's son left on his mission a few days ago.  As she was telling me how difficult it was not to have easy communication access, I literally saw the change in her countenance.  I could tell she was thinking about how I must feel not having any access to Caden, that she felt super bad for having any complaints at all, and that she just wanted to take it back.  She slightly jerked and then quickly changed the subject.  I asked her the question, she regretted her response.  This is one of those things that one would call collateral damage from cancer care.

I am one that loves to hear stories, loves to hear more about those that I am talking with-- I love the little details.  I love to glean information to store away, to remember those little details that I can bring up again in conversation.  I care about the hard things, too, not just the good, happy, light stuff.  Potty training, sickness, dances, missions, aversion to laundry and dishes, difficult days with kids, depressing moments that really bring you down, I truly care-- and want to hear-- about it all.  I know we are still in the thick of a very hard trial (at least I am), but I really do care about these things, even if I am struggling.

An ear infection, or cold, or pneumonia is so much more curable than cancer, absolutely, but that doesn't mean that I can't empathize with the struggle.  Some of my saddest memories have to do with my kids' ear infections.  And don't get me started on how mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining potty training is!  And although my kids look like angels that can do no wrong sometimes, since I don't write about every little nuisance here, they have had their moments where I want to run away for a whole week just to get over the rage coursing through my core.  I can totally empathize during a vent session about how difficult motherhood can be.

While I have chosen just a few examples, there have been more instances where someone was talking to me, many times about something I had specifically asked them about, where they will almost "realize who they're talking to" and slightly jerk and then quickly change the subject.  "Oh, I can't complain about my kid _______!  At least my child is still alive."  "She probably doesn't want to hear me complain about my kids' stuffy nose that makes it so they can't breath, which kept me up for hours last night.  Her child has spent multiple nights in the PICU!"  And on, and on, and on.

I know it is human nature to worry about saying the wrong thing, or to actually say the wrong thing.  And I know I have done it, too, that awkward "I can't believe I just said that to them" moment.   But it is one more thing that I hate about cancer, one more thing it has taken from me.  I really care about others.  I want to be that listening ear, that person that remembers that one time 15 years ago you told me that your birthday was December 13, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!  I want to sympathize and empathize with all of the little things that feel big in the moment (or week of potty training that turns into months... or, "we'll try again in a year"), just as much as I want to sympathize and empathize with those that find themselves in the cancer world or burying their child.  I want to be there for you.  I want to help.  I want to be your friend.

Life is difficult for a variety of reasons.  I don't hold the corner for ultimate suffering or hardest hard.  I still truly care.  It's confusing to wish that people could forget, but never forget.