I can’t imagine. This is what I heard for most of 2015. My friends, family, acquaintances, community members and beyond responded to the news that my daughter was diagnosed with cancer by saying, “I can’t imagine.” Well to be honest, I can’t either. In hindsight, it’s kind of a blur. It’s a blur until we go back for a checkup and I get reminded that having cancer once is a risk factor of having cancer again. Then my stomach gets in knots and my emotions take over my body.
That same feeling happens when I read updates from the family of sweet Johnny. It also takes over when I touch base with a family friend in Little Rock who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I will admit, I’ve not been a good friend to him because I don’t keep up as I should. I don’t because it hurts to a point that I just cry and cry… mostly when everyone is sleeping.
There is a child in my own community who is going through treatments and I haven’t been as supportive as I should because I have not emotionally healed. It’s almost as if my heart is scarred by 2015. Every time someone I know, care about and love is affected by cancer, that scar turns into a wound and I have to heal it all over again.
I can’t imagine what Johnny’s parents are going through with his passing. However, I can imagine the pain of cancer.
This does not mean that you cannot talk to me about it. I’m not going to fall apart if you ask questions or check up on Lucy. It just means that Lucy Jo does not have cancer anymore, but the pain of cancer never goes away.
Now, I can't imagine not thinking about the 'c' word every single day.