Monday, January 19, 2009

"Daddy, are you going to be died?"


“Me and Mommy will both cry after your are died.”


“But I don’t know when…it won’t be while you are four. It could be when you’re five or even after you’re six. But mommy’s not sick, and you’re not sick, and you’re both going to live for a long time and take care of each other. Somebody who loves you will always be there for you.”

It’s a bit creepy talking to your four-year old son about your terminal cancer diagnosis. We told him about the ‘owies’ and the medicine and how it made Daddy feel sick. We never lied to him but we didn’t tell him everything. He figured it out. How long before he asked the question? I’m not sure.

I was driving him to preschool last week when an ambulance drove by. This event, of course, prompted his inquisitive four-year old routine:
“What’s that Daddy? Is that a fire truck?”
No, it’s an ambulance.
“What is it doing? Why? Where are they going. Why?”
Someone hurt…sick…blah…hospital…doctors….
“And the doctors at the ‘hopsital’ will make them all better?”
Most of the time but not always; sometimes they are hurt too badly.
Following a digression of ‘whys’ we round the corner onto Broadway; no longer having to dodge the coffee fiends lining up in traffic since the establishment put up a polite sign.

“Daddy, are you going to be died?”

Yeah, he knows. And now he knows it’s called cancer, which is different than getting sick from a germ. He tells me he will make me feel better by playing ‘musics’ for me; Animusic videos, which are kinda cool, actually. He ‘zoops’ me with his magic wand. He does other things too. And it does make me feel better. But it won’t make my cancer go away. And he knows that too.

January 16th, 2009