When I was a little girl, my mama would say that God sometimes put words in her mouth so that she’d say just the right thing. While God and I have a somewhat more complicated relationship, I think frequently about what mom said. Having cancer conversations with my youngest are eggshell events, tiptoeing gingerly across the fragile surface, hoping I don’t misstep.

Ian wants to know what’s happening to his dad but he needs to be able to control when and how he receives information. Today, after school, he wanted to talk. He told me that he thinks his dad’s cancer didn’t really “sink in” initially but that it has now. Also, though he was really troubled about it, he confessed that he doesn’t like how it has changed our lives. I don’t like it either and so I told him!

We have a deal: he’s allowed to say or ask anything.  No matter what, I’ll answer him honestly. So, when he asked me what stage his dad’s cancer was, I said, “Stage 4.” He said, “That’s really bad, isn’t it?” Then, we talked about what stage 4 means and that cancer affects everyone differently, and that treatments change all the time as new drugs are developed. “Could dad die?” He asked. “Yes,” I said. “But not right now.”

Any one of us could die “right now.” Cancer makes death more — possible? — and makes people want to know the future. “How long do I have?” “Am I going to die?” Ken says that most people envision a peaceful death for themselves but the cancer diagnosis makes him think that his death is more likely to be messy and painful. I tell him that he’s going to live into his 80s and die peacefully under a tree on a warm summer day, just like his dad.

Ken has become very anxious about my health so I went to the doctor yesterday for a check-up. I’m healthy as a horse, she told me after the exam. My blood work also came back great.  If that’s not throwing down the gauntlet with the Fates, I don’t know what is!