Punchy Mommy Believes in Life

Standing straight, I cross my hands over my chest, close my eyes, and fall backwards. Falling, falling, falling, falling, falling…

Then, I feel a hand on my head and it’s you. Whispering in my ear I love you, I’m thinking of you, you can do this, you’ll get through this, it’s going to be ok, take it one day at a time, you’ll beat this, you’re strong, you’re beautiful. 

A hand on my neck. It’s you. You’ve sent flowers, cards, chocolate, books, voicemails, text messages, care packages, thigh high knee socks, comfy clothes, movies, and emails.

A hand on my shoulder.  It’s you. Sitting at my bedside, laying in bed with me, holding my hand, cooking meals, bringing me medicine, helping me to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, feeding me, tucking me into bed, kissing me, helping me get dressed, watching movies with me, reading to me, being there when I wake up, finishing my sentences, and bringing Pinkberry.

A hand on my arm. It’s you. Taking my tearful phone calls and emails every single time. Listening to me lament about my condition. Helping me to stay positive. To stay focused. Giving me perspective. Making me smile. Telling me about you and your life, your kids, your job. Reminding me that there is life outside of hospital, outside of cancer, and someday, I too, will start living again.

A hand on my hand.  It’s you. Taking care of Little Man. Hugging him, holding him, kissing him, changing him, bathing him, reading to him, playing with him, telling him mommy loves him, telling him mommy misses him, taking photos and videos of him to show me, putting him on Skype so he could see me while I was in the hospital and bringing him to see me there.

A hand on my back.  It’s you. Creating and organizing my cancer dossier. Taking voluminous notes, asking questions, researching, learning, connecting with others, saving my life.

A hand on my leg. It’s you. Driving and flying hundreds of miles to see doctors and specialists. Going to every single doctor appointment. Spending sleepless nights at the hospital on the couch. Talking to nurses and doctors when I couldn’t find the words and didn’t have the energy to tell this story again.

A hand on my knee. It’s you. Raising money for cancer research, walking and biking in my honor, and donating blood.

A hand on my foot. It’s you. Praying for me. Refluah shlema and Ana El Na Refa Na La. I heard it. I hear it. I know it’s you.

Please hold me forever. Don’t ever let me go.