And, sometimes I'm angry

Nothing's going wrong today. Not really. Jake is sick today. So I was sitting on hold with the doctor's office Muzak playing in my ear and an old song "Daddy's Home" by Cliff Richards came on. Ironically, Cliff isn't singing about an actual daddy - more of a hypothetical "who's your daddy" to his significant other. Listening to that stupid song I had a sudden and very intense flash of anger.

The song got me thinking about Rachel and Jim. Mostly when I feel angry, I feel for the kids. It really makes me mad that Rachel and Jake don't get to have their Daddy. I can see how her eyes light up when I tell her about the special times they had. The kids at school have a lot of questions like "What happened to Rachel's daddy?" and "Well, if her daddy died, does she have a daddy anymore?" (The answers to those two questions are: Rachel's daddy had cancer and he died. And yes, she still does have a daddy, but he lives in heaven.) One kid from Rachel's class was asking me questions and I told her that Jim could have as much Diet Coke as he wanted in heaven. And she said "Can he have all the beer he wants, too?!" I love kids. They're just so honest.

Another hard thing when addressing kids is having to say the word "died". I don't like to use that word. It just sounds so harsh and final. But I said "...when daddy passed away" to Rachel the other day and she said "passed away? What does that mean?" Everything has to be so literal. I have a hard time with that right now - I need the vocabulary softened for me.

I feel angry that Rachel and her friends have these questions. Not that they shouldn't ask questions - by all means, they should. But I feel angry that it happened at all. And to a four year old and 19 month old. "Cancer" and "died" should not be in a four year old's vernacular.

I feel angry that what Rachel and Jake have are a few memories, pictures, and a bear that has his voice. (The bear was a brilliant idea - Jake listens every single day.) I want them to have Jim. That's what every parent hopes for their children - that they will be brought up in a safe, nurturing environment where they have two parents to lean on. Now the kids just have me. I'm doing the best I can, but it angers me that they don't have a choice. Cancer didn't give my kids a choice. Cancer didn't give me a choice. And cancer certainly didn't give Jim a choice. I'm angry for them and I'm angry for Jim. I'm angry for all of us.

I definitely don't mind answering kids' questions - after all, we have nothing to be ashamed of, and the minute we stop talking about it, it will feel "hush-hush" and I don't want that - for me or my kids. I do mind the fact my kids don't have a chance to see their dad at all. I mind that they have to ask me questions about a vile disease that invaded and tore our lives apart. I mind that their memories of Jim will come from pictures and voice recordings - not from their daddy.

Complaining about it won't make cancer go away. But I can't help wondering how I could make other families lives better. I don't want any other young family to be in the position that ours is in. I don't want any child to have to answer questions about heaven or whether or not they have a mommy or daddy. That's were my anger comes in - my kids were gypped out of a total family experience. They were gypped out of a great daddy. They were gypped out of making memories with someone who loved them more than anything else. We all feel gypped without Jim, but in the grand scheme of things, I think the ones who really got the short end of the stick was our kids.