Telling The Kids About Their Dad’s Cancer

Bob’s first night in the hospital, I got home around 12:30 am. Both kids were still awake, anxious, wanting to talk to me, wanting the information that we’ve always given them – wanting the truth.

So, at 12:30 am, I explained to my 11-year-old daughter and 13-year-old son that:

Yes, Daddy’s cancer is still attacking his body.

No, the radiation did not help.

Yes, we have fewer options for fighting the cancer.

Yes, Daddy is still going to fight the cancer.

Yes, you may overhear other family members say Daddy doesn’t have much time left to live because one doctor believes that, however, not every doctor agrees with him. And we don’t agree with him.

Our daughter cried for a while, hugged me a lot, and spent a while in our bed that night before she popped up and said she was okay and would be heading back to her own bed where she sleeps better.

To grandmother's house we goOur son meditated on it. He came into my room to tell me he had to visions of Daddy in his meditations. In one vision, he saw Daddy with “very feeble, but with no cancer in his body. In another, it was two years in the future, but Daddy was dead. I’m going with the first version, Mom.” I love that kid.

It was around 2 am by the time I got the kids settled and myself to bed that night, but I have limited priorities in my life right now – my husband and my children. They had been texting me at the hospital in the hours before I arrived home, so I knew it would be a late night. When your father is lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life, bedtime is a moot point.