Just a spoon full of sugar
Little Man was the first thing that came to my head when I learned there was a large shadowy figure in my chest. Who is going to take care of him? Will he going to grow up without me? What’s going to happen to him? I desperately wanted to keep life normal for him. I didn’t want him to grow up with a sick mom in a sick home. Mom and Dad were almost immediately by my bedside when the diagnosis hit and Dad quickly took over as nanny-in-chief. But I knew that they couldn’t stay forever and they had to take care of their baby. How were they going to take care of mine? I quickly decided that we needed someone just for Little Man. I needed someone who was going to laugh and play and someone who could give all their love and attention to him. I needed someone who was not tweaked out by dealing with cancer…someone who did not look at him with tears in their eyes.
You entered our lives amidst all our panic and pain. I don’t know why you agreed to join our family where chemo orders were the main topic of discussion. Where 27 prescriptions constantly littered the countertops, with a revolving door of grandparents and relatives to contend with, and with a woman who was withering from treatment and loosing her hair all over the house. Your quiet confidence and nurturing soul were just what we needed. Armed with love, hugs, and patience, you became the mommy I couldn’t be. You scooped up my baby, looked into his eyes and said let’s play! You steadied our world and day after day you told him everything is ok. I knew things would work out when you texted me from the living room, are Joshy and blanky in your room? Can I come get them? You treated Little Man’s most beloved loves with utmost care and respect. I couldn’t stop smiling from beneath the covers, even on the days when a smile is all I could muster.
Kissing his boo boos, reading books over and over again until you were cross-eyed, taking him all over town for fun, making ooy-gooey sandwiches and then tucking him in before nap. You encouraged him to be himself and steered clear of the questioning looks when Little Man insisted on wearing his bicycle helmet all day or when he liked to wear DH’s hat on top of his own hat. You gently explained to him that mommy needed to rest now. You made going to the hospital to see me a normal part of his day. The pictures you took of him and the stories you told me of what he did while you were out kept me connected and allowed me to be a part of his day. And, even more than that, your friendship helped me heal and your cooking kept me full. Can you make toast for two?
Leaving you behind when we moved was hard but please know that you have left your loving mark on my family. I love when something triggers Little Man’s memory and he talks about you out of the blue. I can’t stop smiling whenever I catch him singing a song that you sung with him. He guards these special memories of you and I am happy to be their gatekeeper, no mommy! Don’t sing Warm Water! Just this morning, when I started to sing the zoo song, he looked at me with his knowing eyes, and he started to sing along. I asked him if he remembers going to the zoo with you and he smiled wide while finishing the verse he was singing and said Mommy, you’re Mommy2 now.
Mommy2, you were the perfect pill for my ailing family. When we saw Little Man’s foundation crumbling you swooped in and built it back up. But, most importantly, you delivered my baby back to me in better condition then when I left him. And for that, I am forever grateful.
Spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
The medicine go down-wown
The medicine go down
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
In a most delightful way