Changing Perspective

You hear people say all the time that having a life-altering event changes perspective. These life-altering events aren’t planned, and there is no way to prepare for the way your life is changing. For me, my first major life-altering event was the loss of a friend in college. His sudden death came as a shock to those who loved him. It left everyone with those “what could I have done?” thoughts, like there was something we should have seen, some way that we could have protected him from himself.

I was 19 when he died. I was also shallow and selfish during the grieving process. Everyone handles grief differently, but it wasn’t the way I grieved that made me feel selfish, it’s the way I judged everyone else’s processes that made me shallow. It took me a long time to realize how different grief could look for people and how ugly that process really is. For me, I dove back into work. I wanted to make other people feel good to make myself feel better. I thought this is how I would handle all grief, but it turns out I was really wrong about that.

I should really count my blessings. I’m 30 years old, and in my life I have lost a great-grandmother when I was in 5th grade and a good friend at 19. All the people who I have known my entire life, the adults who raised me and guided me throughout my life, they’re still with me. They’re part of this fight. My paternal grandmother is 95. She had colon cancer at one point and went through chemo without even losing her hair. In the last year she has had a cancerous tumor removed several times being treated with radiation and moving on with her life like nothing happened. When she called me about my own cancer, she cried. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cry. She assured me if she can do this as many times as she has, I certainly can too. I want to believe her, but I don’t even know what I’m doing yet. What fight am I even fighting? Why is this taking so long?

My second life alternating event was the birth of my son. He changed my life for the better the moment I found out I was pregnant. He is the smartest, funniest, most caring child I’ve ever met, and I work with kids so that’s saying something. Becoming his mother gave me a purpose I didn’t know I needed. I need him in my life the way I need air. He’s his father in the most magnificent ways. He’s creative, caring and focused. He’s everything I feel like I’m lacking. 

The third life-altering event was the birth of my daughter. There were times throughout pregnancy I felt myself being afraid of my ability to love someone else the way I love my son. My heart was so full, does more love fit in there? I don’t know how God does it, but somehow the size of my heart doubled. I looked at this precious little ball of fire the doctors handed me and knew that our lives were going to have more love in them than we knew what to do with. Where her brother is cautious she is fearless, and where he is sensitive she is fierce. They have so few similarities but became best friends the minute we got home. He loves her, he hugs her and smothers her in kisses, and she looks up to him, following his moves and pretending to be an animal running through the house. These moments I’ve always watched with joy, now bring me unwanted tears. What if I have to miss this?  There is still so much I need to know about both of them.

Time with them has always been precious but it has new meaning now. I’m less annoyed with their typical sibling behaviors. When Larkin wakes up in the middle of the night because her blanket fell off, I gladly jump out of bed to cover her up. When Holden wakes me up saying he needs someone to snuggle him, it brings my heart joy. I know sleep is important but so is this time. I never knew how important these moments were. Cancer has allowed me to spend more time consciously loving my children. 

The birth of my children gave my life a new meaning. Nothing I do is for myself anymore, everything I do is to be a better mother to them. I’m not a perfect mom by any stretch of the imagination but the cancer diagnosis made me feel like I needed to be one. This has been daunting.

The day I found out about my sarcoma my perspective changed. I put my phone down (other than to take a million pictures a day). I sat with them more, I listened more. I was also exhausted all of the time from trying to fight back tears most of the day. These moments were so sweet and pure. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. To fight them off, I’d take a deep breath and together we would say “We can. We will. We Must.” and we’d go on. My kids get excited saying it, like a new fun family chant. My husband and I both know it means so much more. 

So where is this life-altering perspective that cancer is supposed to bring? The first thing I did was start looking into cancer survivors who had blogs or podcasts to hear their stories. That’s the thing about cancer, there aren’t two people who have identical cancer stories but every story is inspiring. With that, I came across a podcast talking about plant-based eating and a person who has dedicated his life since his diagnosis to educating people about the diets they have and the effects they can have on a person’s health. Josh and I have decided together to make changes towards this lifestyle. We definitely aren’t perfect at it, but we’re making a lot of healthy changes.

Cancer has also made me not want to miss a minute. While I’m typing this, I’m watching my daughter stretch out on the couch watching Sesame Street trying to stay awake until lunch time. I’m listening to my son pretend to be some form of a fictional animal in his room. He’s stomping and running, playing deep in his imagination. For a moment, things feel normal and it’s magic. My brain never lets me stay there though, because it’s quick to remind me that my life isn’t normal and then I find myself fighting back tears. 

I’ve read a lot of blogs and stories from people with cancer or cancer survivors that it made them want to live life to the fullest and not hold back, but it makes me want to spend every moment soaking in the glory that is my family. I don’t want to miss a bedtime. I crave the time on the couch with my husband where he will, without a doubt, fall asleep. Maybe I feel like if I can keep everything exactly the same within these walls, it means my life won’t have to change at all. We’ve worked so hard to get where we are, can’t we just have a minute? 

Life doesn’t work that way. We don’t get a moment, we have to soak up what we can and keep moving. I find myself so conflicted between wanting to know what is next, how bad is it? And wanting to go back to last Wednesday when I didn’t know I had cancer. Life was certainly simpler then. We had goals that were just “stay alive.” But right now that is the goal, and that’s okay. The perspective comes from knowing that this is the life I’m living right now. I can only control what I can control. For me, in the moment, I can control the quality of time I’m spending with my family, I can control the food I put into my body. I’m working on being able to control the quality of my thoughts. Everything else is part of the adventure.