I Don't Know What To Say

“I don’t know what to say” is usually a part of most conversations I have now.  “I can’t even imagine what you are going through” usually follows it.  “I just want you to know I’m thinking and praying for you all” usually ends the message.  People closest to me and those whom I’ve never met both use these phrases.  My family even says it.  Those words seem so redundant and I’m sure when you type them or say them you say it in your head, “I bet he’s heard this a million times, but I don’t know what else to say.

            I just want you to know that it is ok.  It is enough.  I don’t want you to know what to say. I don’t want you to imagine this. Knowing that you are thinking about us right now means more than you know.  It is ok, I promise.

            One of the best doctors in the world didn’t know exactly what to say either and he’s the freaking man when it comes to these situations.  All Dr. Armstrong was left with was, “I can’t cure this.”  So if the best in the world couldn’t come up with anything more, I don’t expect you to.  These situations suck worse than anything.  Nobody wants to see a child sick or hurting, especially a little one that has had to fight their whole life.  The English language, as complicated and intricate as it is, doesn’t have a magic combination that is made for these situations.  Cancer takes the words out of your mouth.  It has a funny way of taking a situation that seems like it needs words of encouragement and leaves you speechless.  Truthfully, as a Dad in this situation, I don’t know what to say either.  All I can tell Penelope is that Daddy loves you.  I can’t say magic words to make her feel better.  I sure as hell can’t sing a song that helps (that usually causes more crying by anybody hearing it).  I couldn’t soothe her for 2 weeks when I picked her up screaming by saying softly “It’s ok baby, shhhh”, so I can’t even imagine someone seeing the situation from the outside would have anything either.  It is ok though.  Chalk up another F you to cancer for taking everything we know we should say and leave it on the tip of our tongues.

            I don’t want you to imagine this happening to your family or your little one.  I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.  You don’t want to think about sitting in the back room of E Clinic to hear your little pigtail princess has an incurable cancer that they don’t know very much about.  I don’t want you to have to sit in front of an MRI to see these little white glowing masses that are taking over your child’s body and you can’t do anything about it.  I don’t want you to have to look at your baby every night and when you kiss her forehead wonder if this is the last time you will get to do this.  I don’t want you to have to make a bucket list of things that you’ll never get to do again.  So now that we are both crying, STOP.  I have to stop myself too.  Life isn’t about dying, it is about living.  So instead of imagining that, just live.  I can’t imagine months or years anymore.  I have to live and do it now.  So that’s why you shouldn’t.  We take it hour by hour day by day.  If all I did was imagine, I might miss out of on something.  We just have to do better with what we have in front of us.  Imagining doesn’t get us anywhere.  I can imagine a different life, but that’s not going to help anybody.  So it’s ok, I promise. I don’t want you to imagine this, because it isn’t going to get anybody anywhere.

            I can honestly say that thinking of us, praying for us, or sending good vibes our way is enough.  I know it doesn’t seem like you are doing anything, but you are.  I was talking to a Dad about the different prayers at the football field, softball field, baseball field, and the countless prayer lists people have added us to.  He said it best.  “Damn man, I couldn’t imagine the strength that gives you to go through this junk.”  I started to think about it.  I know we weren’t there for those prayers, but I felt them.  Seeing the pictures of them hit me straight in the heart.  How could I give up and give in when all these people are behind us?  The answer is you can’t.  It isn’t about letting someone down, it is about showing them that there is power in people coming together as a community, as a team, or even as a family and showing that they care.  I don’t care what your religious affiliation or even if you believe in God.  God didn’t do this and there is no “reason” for this to happen, but what has come from this is bigger than any one of us.  That you can’t deny.  Dr. Dan prayed with us continually before we even knew what we were getting into.  I listened to Mrs. Gail pray for her in our makeshift bed at Lebonheur that was one of the most beautiful prayers because I know it came straight from her heart to ours.  Mr. Ritchey gave us strength to go to St. Jude’s with his prayer for us as a family.  Coach Hollowell and his wife Sarah surprised us at St. Jude’s on a night that I was really struggling.  Instead of sitting there crying and feeling sorry, they gave me an hour of good stories and ended with a prayer that reminded me what was important.  I don’t know all the words that have been said either in prayer or in just simple thoughts about my little girl, but I can tell you they matter and mean more than anyone knows. 

            It is a very easy cop out to say “thank you, I appreciate it.”  Honestly, that’s all I’ve got.  I talked with a Dad down there from Indianapolis who was fighting for his last chance with his little boy.  I asked him how he handled all the love and support.  Well after we talked for an hour, all we came up with is, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”  Cancer took my words too.  It kills me that I can’t say more, but I am trying to figure out all this too.  Those words come from my heart, and I promise if I had better ones I’d say them too.  It really does mean a lot and many times I get a message or call with no more than “I’m sorry bud, I’m thinking about you and am here for you,” is really what I needed to keep going. 

            Cancer takes a lot from us.  It will one day take my little girl.  What it can’t take is a community and family that has come together for a greater good.  It can’t take my fight and sure as hell won’t make me quit.  It might take our words from us, but what words it does leave us with are meaningful and do matter.  Sitting on a bench in the middle of St. Jude’s can be a lonely place.  Let’s be real, sitting anywhere right now in this situation sucks.  I can’t get too down because somebody somewhere is thinking of us and I promise, that’s enough and it makes that moment ok.