When my husband and I first tied the knot, our Sunday masses often placed us behind a family with five rambunctious boys. While I dreamed of having a big family, I couldn’t help but nudge my husband and whisper, “Five boys… that sounds like a nightmare!” Little did I know, the real nightmare was lurking just around the corner.
Fast forward a few years, and I learned that the mother of those well-behaved boys had faced a battle with cancer that cost her a leg. Suddenly, my perspective shifted. “Cancer… now that’s the real nightmare,” I thought.
Then, in April 2009, my worst fears materialized when my five-year-old son was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. I was knee-deep in what I once perceived as chaos—four little boys under six—and I was feeling overwhelmed. Not that I would admit it; after all, I had chosen to expand our family. But in those frantic moments, my nightly prayers turned into pleas: “God, please help me find a way to be a better mom.”
Things did change, but not in the way I ever wanted.
On the morning of April 22, 2009, life felt ordinary. There were toaster waffles, the joyous sounds of Playhouse Disney, and a lingering tummy bug that had affected everyone in the house. While my oldest son was still sleeping off his illness, I was busy preparing for an Earth Day picnic that Joey, my eldest twin, had excitedly planned.
As the morning passed and the chaos grew—my toddler wreaking havoc—I noticed Joey was still in bed. A quick glance revealed he’d thrown up beside his bed. I tried to wake him, but his responses were slurred, and his gaze was vacant, darting away from me. At that moment, I felt a chill of realization: something was terribly wrong.
I called my husband at work, my voice trembling. “Please, can you come? I think something’s really wrong with Joey.” He rushed to the phone, suggesting I call the pediatrician. But as I watched Joey’s condition deteriorate, I knew I needed to call 911. The wait for the sirens felt like an eternity, but when the paramedics arrived, they quickly began assessing the situation, firing off questions: Did he have any medical conditions? Could he have ingested something? The answer was no—except for the last question. They suspected a febrile seizure, which gave me a fleeting moment of relief, though I knew he hadn’t had a fever.
My father arrived to watch the other kids while Joey was put on a stretcher. I was grateful I could ride in the ambulance with him, wishing I had my camera to capture the moment, thinking he would find it amusing once he was well again.
On the way to the hospital, I chatted with the EMT about kids and preschools until Joey’s seizures escalated, and the sirens blared. Anxiety washed over me; I sensed something was seriously wrong. At the hospital, more questions awaited: Had he hit his head? I hesitated but eventually mentioned a fall he’d taken at hockey lessons three months prior. Could that be the cause?
Then came the moment that shattered my world. The ER doctor delivered the crushing news: “It’s a tumor.” My mind raced, the room became a blur as I grappled with the reality that my vibrant, imaginative son, who had just planned a picnic, was facing something so dire.
“How does a five-year-old get a brain tumor?” I asked, but the doctor turned his focus back to Joey, leaving my question unanswered. I called my husband, and the weight of the news hung heavy on both our hearts.
Every detail after that felt painfully vivid. Meeting the neurosurgeon, waiting for the biopsy results, and finally learning his cancer was inoperable and terminal. It was a nightmare I never thought I’d face. Just weeks before, Joey was a healthy, happy child, with a clean bill of health from his pediatrician. Yet, those terrible headaches he had experienced? I had brushed them off as allergies or migraines. The surgeon speculated that the tumor had likely been growing since birth.
That day five years ago forever altered the course of our lives. Joey bravely fought until June 10, 2010, when we lost him at just six years old. The laughter and joy in our home have since dimmed, leaving a void that his brothers struggle to fill. At times, I feel lost myself, unsure how to move forward without him.
Three months after his passing, I found myself pregnant again. The fear of becoming a parent once more weighed heavily on my heart. Would I be strong enough to handle it? Miraculously, I was. This new little one has brought healing, serving as a gentle reminder of Joey and perhaps answering my prayers for change. Without this baby, I fear I would still be mired in the deep sadness that followed Joey’s death.
I can’t definitively say whether losing Joey has made me a better mom, but it has shifted my perspective. The chaos of toys strewn across the floor, the noise, and the mess no longer faze me. Nowadays, my family is defined by love, laughter, and cherishing the present moment. I choose to seek joy in the small things, for those are what truly matter. There will always be a place in my heart for my sweet boy, but I strive to nurture positive thoughts about the future. I try not to dwell on the shattered vision of the family I once had, but rather embrace the love that remains.
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In summary, life can take unexpected turns, shattering dreams we once held dear. But amid the chaos and loss, we can find ways to heal, love, and cherish the moments we have.