Treasures of the Heart
10-2-2006
The question most asked by people is,"How
are the kids coping with all of this?" When we first learned of
Jaymun's cancer, it was the foremost concern on my mind as
well--after the obvious worry about Jaymun's health.
It is still my biggest struggle, having to keep a constant barometer on the
physical and emotional well-being of our four other children. It's not just
Dave and I who have had our world turned upside down...our kids have had to
adjust to their life being altered as well. So, the question remains--how
will all this affect our family?
I wish I had a great answer. All I can say is that if
ever there was a time to be proud of my little "herd", it's now. They
don't pout about the attention given to their baby brother or whine about all
the trips being made back and forth to the hospital. They never complain that
life isn't fair, that this sick baby is consuming their mom and dad's energy.
They help their dad out with chores at home and do well in school so we don't
have to worry about their grades on top of everything else. When it's
time to leave the hospital, they don't cry or cling or do any of the numerous
things that would make their mom feel horribly guilty. They have realized
in such a mature way that life is not all about them. These kids have
rolled with the punches.
I have a few theories about why they've eased into the
whole medical situation. One thought that jumps out at me is that
they're used to the idea that sad things happen to everyone. We usually work
all summer in the Dells at an Easter Seals camp for the disabled. If that
doesn't put your life into perspective, nothing will. The kids are comfortable
around medical staff and disabilities because they've grown up since they were
very little seeing the things that life can dish out to people for no apparent
reason. We've had hundreds of conversations about birth defects and diseases
and disabilities--they understand that sometimes, bad things happen to good
people. In fact, when Jaymun was born and we had
to break the news to them about his leukemia,
My first instinct is to shield them from the sorrows of
the world, but it's a sad fact of life. This detour from our plan for our
family is indeed a "bad thing". We can't hide it from them, we can't
sugercoat the painful truth about their baby brother,
we can't make everything better with a magical wand. I don't
want them worrying about whether Dave and I are trying to gloss over
Jaymun's treatment, so we're just honest--we talk about
things and in doing so, I think they trust us to always include them in what's
going on. I hope we're doing an okay job with them. We try so hard to make
their life as normal as possible at home and protect them from becoming
resentful or scared. It's why Dave is working from home, to provide them with a
sense of stability. It's why I make tons of phone calls to talk to each one of
them personally. It's why we try to bring them here for visits, so we can
include them in Jaymun's life. There is no manual on
this kind of thing, so only time will tell.
The only thing I know for sure is that this summer has
changed all of us. We can't pretend otherwise. My sweet children are growing up
without me--I keep thinking I will never get the time back that I'm missing.
All of you who are struggling with discipline issues
or frustrated with communicating with your children, be grateful you can be
there to even worry about these things. Forget about the daily parental
problems of bickering children or picking up their clothes and toys off the
floor--just thank God for the privilege of being able to do so.
I miss just being in the same room with my kids. I want to
be the one to send them off to school, to give them a bath, to bake them
afterschool treats, to braid Kirsten's hair, to count
Devon's freckles, to read Sean a story, to talk to Ben about girls--that's all
precious "mom stuff", and I'm missing out on it. I miss their voices
and their chatter and even their little boy arguments. I miss their happy
smiles and the smell of their sweaty little heads when they've been racing
around outside all day. I miss folding their laundry and picking out their
clothes for church and school. I miss answering their endless questions. I miss
tucking them in at night. I miss reminding them to brush and floss their teeth.
I miss the noise of having a big family. (Now I know I'm delirious!)
I miss listening to Ben hammering away on his drums in the basement. I
miss
We aren't just the Kaat family anymore. Now we're the
Kaat-Family-Did-You-Know-Their-Baby-Has-Leukemia. We're identified by a
disease. It gives me an uneasy feeling. You may be surprised to know that I
didn't even want to write blogs on this website.
Because if I did that, it would be admitting that there is something newsworthy
about our family. I just crave being a simple, everyday family. I never wanted
all this attention directed towards us. I knew if I had to start writing,
I'd have to be honest about how things are going and I'm not good with
pretending. So now I have people reading about my family when I never intended
to have a spotlight aimed in our direction. It's an odd feeling to have scores
of people fascinated by a prognosis of cancer.
My children are without a doubt the best five things I've
ever done in my life. The treasures of my heart.
I can't explain how it feels to be the mother to Benjamin, who
has done massive amounts of babysitting for his siblings to help us out and
never complained that his 14th birthday went uncelebrated this summer.
Or Kirsten, who does the family's laundry and
helps her little brother with his homework when she's only 11 years old
herself. Or
If you think I'm looking at my children as perfection, think
again. Perfection takes way too much time and energy. I like the fact that
they're just kids, that they make tons of mistakes. It means I have lots of
opportunities to teach them things and it keeps us
humble and on our knees in prayer. What it comes down to is this--my kids
know I'm completely crazy about them. I'm pretty sure that was the
whole point in bringing them into the world in the first place.
Unconditional, crazy love. I took this photo the day before
we returned to the hospital. I love to look at it because it reminds me that I
have five little people who are depending on me to steer them through this
rocky season. They were definitely cheated of time spent watching their baby
brother growing up, but they can still smile during the times they do
get with him. I want them to go through the day as normal kids. If
you see them laughing and smiling--well then, it just means we're doing our
job, doesn't it?
No, I can't be sure how this will all turn out. I'm quite
certain there will be some scars left on all of us when it's finished. We're
trying our best to minimize the damage. In the meantime, we go on because
that's the only thing we can do. So, enjoy your children. Squeeze those little
bodies. Tickle them until they laugh. Kiss their "owies".
Tell them you think they're terrific--and tell them why. Kids love to
know the specifics of what makes them so special to you. You owe it to them to
make sure they go off into the world as confident, strong, happy human beings.
There's no secret formula to being a parent. But there is an
excellent tool to use along the way. It's called love. Personally, I'm partial to the crazy kind.
