My husband did all those things, and a million other things so that I could rest and heal and not have to worry.Before cancer, I measured myself by what I did. I made breakfasts and kissed cheeks and made sure everyone had clean socks. My kids saw me happy most of the time, often tired, sometimes mad, sometimes sad, but I never let them see me as weak. They needed to know that I was stronger than any bad thing that could happen, that I would protect them. Then came cancer.
One weekend morning after my surgery, I was lying in bed acutely aware of what I couldn't do. I couldn't make chocolate chip pancakes, my Saturday specialty. I couldn't cheer on my oldest at his baseball game, or take my youngest to a birthday party later that day.Then the door cracked open. My youngest tiptoed in, followed by the dog. Both jumped into bed, the dog curling up by my feet and my youngest propping himself on a pillow to play Roblox.