Elephant Appreciation Day

Today we must take time to appreciate our elephants. For me, I don’t have to go to the local zoo, I can “appreciate” the elephant that’s standing right in the middle of my room – house, really.

You might be thinking you know what our elephant is named. You’re saying “Oooh! Oooh! I know this one! It’s called CANCER.” Well, that animal is certainly around, invading our living space and our son’s body, but it’s not the animal I’m referring to. The elephant that has parked his gargantuan butt in the middle of my house is called “DEATH”.

You might not be able to see this elephant when you come into my house, but you probably think about him. He makes his presence known. You look at my son’s bald head and know that his hair is not a fashion statement. My son has cancer. Aaaargh! I got so used to saying “My son is a cancer survivor” and now I have to revert back to that ridiculous statement. Again. Wasn’t once enough? Didn’t we feed that elephant enough the first time it invaded our house and threatened to take my son? It had to come back for more? Seriously?

I’m afraid that this elephant won’t be satisfied until it takes a life this time. That’s why I’ve named him “DEATH”. And he stinks. He’s here for my son. He’s here in MY house and he’s after my child. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Really, I’m not being dramatic. I’m not being negative. I am being realistic. Honestly, I hate being realistic and certainly prefer to be silly or humorous or goofy or anything but facing the facts. I’ve gotten pretty darn good at taking the ridiculous trials of my life and turning them into something that can make others laugh. But this elephant is sitting on my chest and forcing me to think about him. I can’t breathe.

Ben’s prognosis is poor. It was the same for the following kiddos: Eden. Sophia. Allie. Nick. Stevie. Christi. Tyler. Jake. Alex. Alex B. Kathryn. Ian. Jackson. Sandra. Kyra. These are all kids that I’ve known – or know their families. All of these kids have died from childhood cancer. Most of these kids relapsed with neuroblastoma, just like Ben. And these are just the names off the top of my head. There are so many more. And I’m so scared that Ben is going to be one of them.

Please understand that I haven’t lost hope. I certainly hope my son survives. I hope he gets to grow up. I hope he has a family some day. I hope he dies peacefully in his sleep when he’s in his 90’s after living a life full of love and adventure. But Eden’s family had hope, too. And Sophia. And Allie. Nick. Stevie. Christi. Tyler. Jake. Alex. Alex B. Kathryn. Ian. Jackson. Sandra. Kyra. All their families had HOPE. And the elephant sat right on top of that hope and took these precious children. I hate this elephant.

I’m trying to keep up. I’m doing my best. But the poop this elephant leaves laying around my house is tremendous. It infiltrates everything. And just when I get one part cleaned up he makes a mess somewhere else. Damn elephant.

So, today, I’m going to try to appreciate that elephant. I’m going to be a good hostess and feed him only what I’ve prepared for him. He gets no more than that today. And I’ll kindly ask him to go outside to poop and to be a good house guest and leave when it’s time for the kids to go to bed. Today, and today only, I will try to appreciate him. He cannot take away the fact that my son is having a good day. He might rejoice when he hears Ben cry out in pain during the middle of the night, but I can guarantee that I’ll be riding his butt about leaving my son alone. Even on the day I am supposed to be appreciating him.

But really, he’s taken enough. I just can’t let him take any more. I’m going to keep fighting him despite the large, stinky poo-bombs he’s leaving all over our lives.

Man, this entry is a bummer. I guess I could have written about the GOP instead.

More later. 🙂