Thursday, December 31, 2015

What do I say?


Recently, for the first time ever, Avery asked me why I don't have hair. She was looking at a picture of me and pointed out that my hair was long then. However, I barely had time to process her question before she was on to another topic.

So, subject dropped.

Then, later that night while we were laying in bed, she asked me again. She simply inquired, "Where is your hair, Mama?" Even though she had brought the subject to light earlier that afternoon, I hadn't prepared what I was going to say. So, instead of a direct answer, I bought myself some time and answered her in a sing-songy voice, as if I was reading a page from a Dr. Seuss book. I said, "Some people have loooong hair, and some people have short hair! And some people?? They dare to have NO hair!"

This response satiated her curious mind and made her giggle. She was no longer oblivious to the situation but also not yet clued in either. I know the question is going to come again and I'm anticipating the day when she realizes that most Mommy's have a full head of hair and will wonder why mine grows back in sporadic patches.  I still haven't decided what to tell her, but I do know that it will be up to me to tell her and not anyone else.

With each passing day, she is getting older and more aware. She doesn't miss a beat. She senses the tenderness in my voice when I tell her I love her, the frustration in my expressions when her listening skills have fallen by the wayside, and she knows all the right manipulation techniques to get her way and turn me into mush. My child... she is wise....

So, how do I explain to my doe-eyed three year old that I have cancer. A cancer diagnosis that despite the odds stacked against me, I continue to fight everyday... for her. How do I tell her that I do it for her smile? That I do it so that I can be there on her first day of kindergarten or to share in her excitement when she hits the game-winning run in a softball game? How do I tell her its because I want to be there to hold her close when her heart gets broken for the first time, or she has a fight with her best friend? What about when she walks across the stage to accept her diploma? What words are there that can adequately describe my desire to be there to fluff her wedding gown someday and assure her that no bride has ever been more beautiful and then be there to help her care for her own baby one day when she becomes a mother?

What do I say? These are not the things that will travel the concourses of her young mind if I tell her the reason, so for now, why worry her with the truth. I don't intend to syphon her innocence any sooner than I have to, watching her brow crease in confusion as she struggles to understand what my words mean, when I don't even know the true meaning myself.

The right time will come, and when it does, the right words will come with it. In the meantime, we will play it light, bright, and easy and I will always do whatever it takes to keep her life as normal as possible and to not change her view of me as her role model, hero, and most importantly, her mommy.