Our day to day life does not look a lot different from that of another family who is not working through leukemia treatment. More and more, as we meet people in our neighbourhood, or waiting for the GO train (like Sunday), it's not really possible to tell that we have a child going through chemo. Caleb handles treatment very well. There are things that other people can't see, though. Like the limp that Caleb develops after walking for a long period of time that I know is related to the chemo drugs he takes. Or when he jumps on the trampoline and injures himself, and how my first thought is "What's his bone density right now? Could it be broken?" Or the unpredictable mood swings that go along with long term (or short term) steroid use. Or Caleb getting teased at school for "chubby cheeks" that I know are a result of chemo drugs, but there's no way another kid could know that. These are ways we work through treatment that others can't see, and are hard to explain without sounding or being afraid of sounding like a complainer.
The reality that I'm even more aware of now is our hidden disabilities and struggles. Because if we can carry through a day, living with a life threatening illness, and appear as if nothing is going on, how many others are there that are doing the same. Something in us, in how we're designed, can compel us to hold things together. And don't get me wrong, I know that ability can be a gift, it's something of a coping strategy that keeps us going and won't let us despair unto death. But there's a need within us to be known, to make what is hidden transparent. Sometimes that need is deeper and harder to find. I find that my faith tells me that our Saviour is the one who knows us the most, and who wants us to be known to him. And then, we've also been designed to be together, to share with others this journey. We are not meant to be alone. We need times on our own, to be sure, but ultimately we are not designed to keep apart from others. I don't want to isolate those who are feeling alone, but would rather acknowledge and affirm that loneliness and also affirm that there are more than a few others out there who are longing for the same connection with others. It may not be found where you think.
Hmmm. I suppose I'm rambling, which is another thing that I didn't want this blog to become, a rambling of my own preaching. This too, is all part of our experience. Tim and I have found a deep need together to connect with other people. Since being together, that's always been something important to us, but that desire has strengthened since experiencing leukemia in our family. There are many people out there with untold stories. We recognize that many of us are carrying pain that is unmentioned or unacknowledged, even in the most suprising of places. This doesn't mean we're always compassionate (like when I missed the GO train this weekend and then there were no spots for strollers on the train that I did catch--I wasn't very compassionate then), but we are more aware and have a stronger desire to know and to be known.
Strength to you in your journey, whatever or wherever it may be.
We visited the Royal Agricultural Winter Fair this past weekend. Tim (and some folks from our church) was working on insulating the walls in our front hall, so we had to get out of the way! RAWF was a fun way to spend a day. So was the GO train!
I don't suppose I imagined that my kids' first experience of watching a cow being milked would be in Toronto at the fair, but it was. The kids thought cow pies were funny, and were afraid of getting too close to the cows. I was afraid of cows too, as a child. I clearly did not grow up on a farm.
When it came time to ride on a mechanical horse, Aleah's horse went the fastest. She kept asking for faster, faster!
