It’s “Hammock Day”

Peaceful. Serene. Slight swaying motion rocking away any worries or fears, lulling you into a restful state.

I could use some of that about now.

My husband got me a hammock for my birthday. I’ve been able to enjoy it exactly once – on my actual birthday. I laid in my new hammock with Ben and snuggled with him in the hours before we went in for his emergency biopsy. It was hot so we laid in the shade of the umbrella. I cradled him in the nook of my arm as we swayed back and forth, stroking his hair, knowing that in a few hours he’d be asleep due to anesthetic. Finding out if that damn cancer has returned, which we know now, it has.

Sometimes I look at pictures of him before he was 2 1/2. Pictures where he had no external scars. His chest and abdomen not marred with evidence of biopsies and incisions. These are the external markings he has now – and is about to get more. However, in looking at those “pre-2 1/2” pictures, I wonder how long that cancer was in there lurking? And why would it choose to do so in my sweet little boy? Why my Ben? Why any child? What does cancer have to prove that it needs to destroy all it touches? WHY MY SWEET, INNOCENT BEN?

I need a few hours in my hammock. I need a world where cancer doesn’t exist – especially in children. In my hammock I can drift off to sleep. I can dream that I’m slaying the monster trying to kill my son. I’ll succeed in my dream. I hope that will become our reality.

Drift today. Take time to breathe. Understand that life is a gift – given solely to you – but it does have an earthly expiration. So enjoy what you have while you have it. And one last thing – pray for Ben. He has more time at the hospital today. One more scar to invade his sweet chest. All the while he’s succeeding at being an eight-year-old boy. Not a care in the world. He’s in his perpetual hammock, enjoying his day. Even cancer can’t take that away from him.

More tomorrow 🙂

Ben with his Fisher Price Hammer, July, 2002. 13 months old.

Ready – even then – to fight.