As hard as I try, I cannot imagine what it would be like to have cancer. Jillian has cancer, I don’t. My child has cancer. My beautiful daughter has cancer.
When Jillian was first diagnosed, I knew she would fight with every ounce of her being, because she’s that person. I knew the physical battle would be fought valiantly . The difficult for part for me , was not knowing what was going on inside her head. Her deepest, darkest, thoughts. The fear, the anger, the angst. That’s what I wanted to know. Still do. Why did I want that so badly? Because in knowing, I would be better equipped to help Jillian. Truly, that was my prayer. “Please God, please, help me to be whatever it is that Jillian needs me to be”. I know that I’ll never really be privy to those private, inner thoughts. Anymore than any of us completely allow ourselves to be that vulnerable. Not really.
That was a year ago, and I do believe my prayers are being answered. Jillian lets me know what she needs. She especially lets me know what she doesn’t need. J She doesn’t need a mother that hovers. Uh huh. Right. That’s easy. But I’m learning. I fail sometimes, but that’s okay, Jillian is patient with me. She’s teaching me that she needs her independence, that she doesn’t want to be defined as a person with cancer. And I respect that.
Our lives have taken a detour down the road called melanoma. I’m discovering the beauty of the dandelions along the path. They aren’t weeds, they are gifts, and there have been plenty.
Jillian gave me a dandelion last week with a random text. “You must be thinking about me because my ears are ringing”. What???? You’re ears are ringing?? Are you feeling ok?? Nope, instead I blew the dandelion back with my reply, “You must have a real problem then with your ears ringing all the time”.
That dandelion was wrapped with a big red bow, just in time for Christmas. J