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My family gathered this past weekend, as is our tradition each August, to celebrate my Grandma’s birthday. (She turned 92; happy birthday, “Bs!”) My cousin Charlie and his wife Amy were there from Ohio with their two boys, Harrison, age 7, and Grant, age 4. I see the boys a few times a year, so they’re pretty comfortable around me. This time, though, Harrison had a reaction that I didn’t know about until after the fact, and which shows how important it is to be honest with kids about cancer and other illnesses.
Thinking back, I noticed that Harrison was a little more timid around me than he has been during past visits. He and Grant arrived at our Grandma’s house full of energy, and I kind of realized that when Harrison came through the door and noticed me, shortly after saying his hellos to everyone in the house, he ran outside to explore and play with cousins Ayden, 7, and Arie, almost 3.
‘Can I catch it?’ This seemed so obvious once I heard it. When kids hear that someone’s sick and has to take medicine, we tell them, ‘Don’t get too close, you don’t want to get sick, too!'”
A little later, Charlie said to me, “I think Harrison was a little freaked out when he saw you without hair.” Now it started to click. “We’ll have to have a talk with him later, and let him know what’s going on.” I told him that I’m very open about discussing my diagnosis, and would be happy to talk to Harrison if he and Amy wanted. I can’t remember if Harrison and I said goodbye when they left for the evening to have dinner, but I do remember that I didn’t want to push it, and so I gave him some space.
When they came back the next day, Amy told me about the conversation that she and Charlie had with Harrison before bed the previous night, and it sounded wonderful. They told him that I had cancer, that some of the medicine I’m taking made me loose my hair, and then asked him if he had any questions. Two of them blew me away, but for different reasons. The first was, “Can I catch it?” This seemed so obvious once I heard it. When kids hear that someone’s sick and has to take medicine, we tell them, “Don’t get too close, you don’t want to get sick, too!” The next question was, “Can I give him a hug?” That one made my heart melt. It was so touching, because I think he was afraid that he might hurt me, and wanted to make sure that it was ok, first.
I was curious, so I asked Neil, who is Charlie’s younger brother, and Neil’s wife, Tianna, if they had spoken to their kids, Ayden and Arie, and if the kids had asked any questions about me. Neil replied, “Arie is too young to really understand what’s going on. Ayden does understand that you’re not feeling well, but knows that the doctors are taking care of you. He’s not freaked out. To him you’re the same old Joe.”
As adults, we sometimes forget how black and white the world is through a child’s eyes, so it’s important to give them the facts that we feel are appropriate, and the opportunity to let them ask questions that we answer honestly, keeping in mind that sometimes the best answer is, “I don’t know.” Kudos to Charlie, Amy, Neil and Tianna on their parenting skills, and thanks to Harrison, Grant, Ayden, and Arie for helping us all remember what it’s like to just be cousins, and have fun at Grandma’s. Spending time with my family has been great medicine, and I hope that for them, seeing me in good spirits, staying focused and positive, and being open about my diagnosis, is good medicine for them, too. After all, Ayden’s right. I’m the same old Joe I was before lymphoma, just with a few extra cells, and a lot less hair.
