A New You

Lately I've had a thought on my mind that won't go away. I've avoided exploring the idea of it because I wasn't sure I liked the end verdict, but I've finally come to grips with it.

I am a new me. The me I was two and a half years ago is gone, maybe to never return.

I am not as innocent as I used to be. Not as naive. Not as carefree and funloving.

I am more serious. More cautious. Older (literally and figuratively). I carry a heavier load.

I have to admit I don't always like these changes. When all my old friends are off having fun, and I wish I even cared to join them, it makes me sad--but those things don't sound fun to me anymore. My fun comes in other ways, like baking with my girls or getting my house clean. When others are going out on dates with their husbands or boyfriends, and we can barely stand to leave our kids with a babysitter for an hour or two, it makes me sad--but we'd rather us all be together. Period. I hate, hate, hate it when people say, "You're only as old as you feel", because I usually feel like I'm about 100.

The changes aren't all bad. I "get" people more than I used to, because I can generally see past the artificial shell they've put up. I have more compassion and understanding toward people, because I realize what pain truly feels like. I cry more (way more, much to my dismay), but it's because I care more. I'm pretty sure that I'm okay with the person I've become. I don't need to be that person anymore. I'm happy with the place I'm in, even if it can be pretty lonely. The people who "get" me where I am are the people who love me the most anyway.

What about you? Are you a different you than you used to be? Do you think it's good or bad, and what brought the change?

I Never Want To Forget

Recently on a cancer mom's Facebook page there was a discussion about getting pregnant and/or having little babies while your child is on chemo treatment.

Ashlyn, my youngest of two children, was 4 months old when Emma was diagnosed.  It was very hard.  There were long weeks I had to spend apart from my growing baby.  In fact, when she turned 1, I remember crying because I felt I had missed her whole infancy.  We were apart on her first birthday, by the way.

There was another family in Memphis while we were there in the beginning.  The mother had been pregnant when her child was diagnosed.  She gave birth while in Memphis, and a family member had to come get the baby and take it home to care for it.  The mother said she hadn't seen her new baby since it was something like three days old.

There is so much pain and hardship in pediatric cancer (and all cancer of course).  It would be easy to forget.  To push the pain aside, and forget about all the hard and scary things a cancer-kid parent goes through.  But I don't want to forget.  I want to remember, and to keep the memories and feelings fresh so that I can best know how to help others who are hurting.

So if I overburden some with my talk of hardship; of cancer; of pain, I'm truly sorry.  But I hope I never forget.  Please say a prayer for the families of those with cancer today, and I hope you will use your own pain in life to help someone else who is hurting.