While I may never know the full impact my diagnosis has had on my children, they have been a great source of strength for me—always—but especially these last few months.   The two year old has shown her support by nuzzling the few remaining feathers on my head and by expressing her dissatisfaction that the chemo box I had to carry during treatment was often in the way of a good hug.  She is a happy, capital “T” toddler and continues to provide us with great comic relief.

My eldest, an old soul of 8 years, has been a pillar of strength.  She is old enough to understand all that surrounds this disease and has taken it all in with genuine grace.  She has shed very few tears and has been my strongest and most vocal cheerleader.  I know all mothers think this about their children, but she is a special child.

Talking to her about cancer was very difficult for me but after reading and talking to several experts, we believe that telling her frankly, without too much detail, was and is the best course.  She understands that I had cancer, that the medicine would make my hair fall out, and that I would get better.  I did, it did, and I did.    I am glad that we chose to be honest with her and so grateful that the events are turning out as we had promised.