As I sit here writing from my iPhone, I’m trying to block out the screams and cries of a six-year-old boy, Even, whom we’re sharing a room with. I’m not sure what kind of cancer he has, but he’s two weeks into treatment. His tummy hurts. His legs hurt. He keeps asking why he has to take so much medicine.
I hear the desperation in his mom’s voice, and I know her pain.
I’m still waiting to wake up from this nightmare, because this can’t possibly be real.
Ronan is sleeping peacefully beside me, knocked out from the Benadryl and Tylenol with codeine. His body twitches, and I wonder what he’s feeling. I hope he’s dreaming about playing baseball or chasing his brothers.
I would give anything to trade places with my baby.
He has never done a single thing wrong in his life and does not deserve this pain.
During these long nights alone, I find myself looking back at my life before this. It was so perfect it almost felt unreal. Did I take too much for granted?
Absolutely.
While I was home today, I walked into my closet and was immediately filled with embarrassment and shame. All those clothes, shoes, purses… and for what? None of that matters. None of that is real happiness.
Once we get through this and are home with Ronan, I have a new plan for how I will live my life with my beautiful family. A new life for all of us — one where we want and need nothing except the love of the family and friends who surround us.
Good night to all my sweet angels out there cheering us on.
I love you all so much.
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