As I drove LG to school this morning I was emotionally assaulted by local children's hospital radio-a-thon. It's not because I am a heartless retch who doesn't care about sick children, I think they are doing a good thing! A wonderful thing! To help children who are sick with devastating or terminal illness is a beautiful thing. The problem is even before I was a mother, I couldn't listen to the skillful mix of heart breaking story and emotional music. I got half way into a story and switched to my other station of choice which is playing Christmas music that I am not ready for.
The reason I can't listen to these things is because it brings me back to my own childhood, I am the sister of a survivor. My youngest brother is a childhood cancer survivor, one of the lucky ones, his survival was a sheer miracle. Those little songs and stories rip my heart out because even though I was a young child I can remember it all very clearly. I can remember the hell it was on our whole family and of course my brother whose treatment lasted two years. Just the year before my father had been diagnoses with a terminal illness that would take his life some years later. I don't want to go back there to that place in my life, our life. It's not that I won't talk about it or I don't think about it. I just don't like to be taken there by surprise.
Today I am so very grateful for the life of my youngest brother and his survival against all the odds.