breast cancer 101

Cath on Cancer.

Yep.

I'm muddling my way through. Doctors appointments, chemotherapy, packing school lunches, reading bedtime stories and brushing teeth while I battle the inner demons that want to take up residence.

These writings are just me, all raw, on cancer.

I've been writing for my littles. For what my words might mean as they grow. For how my words, my heart might meet them in the years, decades after I go. And my writing is here as a bit of a peek into this insane, unwelcome, bumpy ride. How a heart can cling to Jesus with a torrent of cancer flung into the mix. 

I guess that's why I let Huz convince me to make this little blog public. Im writing for my boys, but if you're brave enough to take a peek, then do. 

I'd like that.

Maybe my boys will read this one day. Maybe they won't want to. But it'll be here for them. 

This is me on paper. Cath on Cancer. Just thoughts on how it is.

xx

the weary world rejoices

In the dribs and drabs of noticing how my heart is tracking along, I am mostly all sadness for my Huz and littles today and can't think straight, can't keep functioning externally while I self combust internally all morning, all afternoon and evening too.

The gnawing of 'all is not right', the constant nag of the cancers pain in my right pelvis, my lower back, it screams out for my attention.

Just like Christmas.

Just like all the cooking, preparation and present wrapping.

And it's too close to my thoughts, too near to each moment festively hanging lights, re-jigging my Christmas tree decorations and stealing a secret slice of Christmas cake. Death is too near to this Jesus birth, this new life, new baby, weary world rejoicing, for me to get comfortable.

Have I lived the moments wide eyed enough? Have I slowed down enough, (but not too much) so as to capture the hearts of my tribe as we go through advent? 

For the first time we have been tracking through advent with Ann Voskamp's 'Unwrapping the Greatest Gift'. Life changing. A chance to stop every morning and get our hearts ready to be glad in the deepest place that Jesus came, and that nothing will ever be 'very wrong' again. I drink the words, the life-giving (or in my case life-saving) truths spelt out in beats that I can keep up with, droplets of truth that are threatening to change me from the inside out. 

Droplets that won't let me stay thinking that maybe God has forgotten me.

Droplets that taste of God's goodness, of His unthinkable sacrifice, His deepest love for little me.

Yet in my morbid way I found myself crying over my orange juice tonight at photos of my boys, these three wonders, that will in time no longer have me all warm and in the flesh to love them new each day. The photos taken, video recorded, memories etched in small minds will have to be enough. But how can they be enough. None of it is the good story I imagined over and over as I nursed True. That season when my world plodded along all cozy and right, and the biggest problem was how long he napped in the day for and which playgroup to attend.

Yes. I've lived those days. Not all my days have had a ticking clock in the background, the endless swallowing of heaped pills morning and night. Not all my days have been achingly lonely because how can I ever ever explain or articulate the endlessness of having to say goodbye when all I want is to stay.

On the day that will be my last on this earth, it will be well with my soul if I have lived this life the best I can. Not in that 'striving to get it all done/freaking out over not getting it all done way', but the knowing that I know that I know I loved with all I am, gave with all my heart, treasured and nurtured my four boys, my three littles with my whole self, and gave my heart daily, hourly to love big my Huz. All in the name of Jesus. Without whom I would have self combusted a few years back.

I can't fathom walking this yuck of cancer without His presence in the deep places.

Just needing You to help me do it Jesus. So glad you never leave me. Please remind my tired heart tonight that Your good is better than my imagined plans that seem better.

bali & cancer

I've found that the longer I live with cancer, the more spontaneous, 'seize the day' I become. 

Planning for holidays has never been my strong suit. I tend to be pretty happy at home. I'm such a homebody. Love my creature comforts and pottering about my own place. But cancer has definitely changed my 'it can wait' perspective on getting away. I've got to fit a lifetime of holidays into a few short years! Can it be done? Well I'm giving it a pretty good go!

The more I think about how great I'm feeling on this drug combo of 'Vanilla Bean' and Xeloda the more I don't want to take my chances waiting to do the things I've always wanted to do.

So.

Getting away with Huz is one of my favourites. He and I travel so well together. We love relaxing and taking it all in, and he's such great company. I love to do holidays with him.

Six nights away with Huz at a luxury villa was so good for my soul. Bali was the perfect spot.

Beyond grateful to our parents for looking after the littles so we could whisk off. It was a pretty big ask, and we timed our trip while school was still on so that our parents wouldn't have to entertain all three all day every day that we were away. It's a huge ask though. Such love showered on us from all four of them to set aside plans to love on the boys for us.

And a trip to Bali with Huz? A definite cancer perk!

Do we look fit to be parents? 

That's better. Think we'd fool them now.

There were so many highlights on this trip. Swimming, eating divine seafood, our amazing four poster canopy bed, shopping in the markets, watching beautiful sunsets, reading amazing books, long conversations and beautiful silences, daily massages and coffee in the rainforest.

Very memorable and so very life-giving. Living each moment well was a privilege. 

Lots of smiles in these photos, which was easy because there was so much to smile over and marvel at.

But by the final night as we watched the amazing Bali sunset my hearts ache was for my littles. I am so tied to these three boys of mine, and truly 6 nights away was my utter limit for missing those squeezable cheeks, cheeky, toothy smiles and tight cuddles.

Huz will tell you I was a mass of tears for most of the final evening. Induced mostly by the desperate realisation that someday soon my separation from the boys will be final and one that a quick plane trip home won't remedy. 

Me in my forever home, that place of no more tears, but my precious 4 boys with that homesickness for me that will remain until they join me.

And the thought of that had me crying into Huz's shoulder even while Balinese singers gathered round our table on the beach to serenade us.

Oh my breaking heart. It just breaks a little more at the most unexpected times, leaving me spinning.

This long goodbye. The one I want with all my soul to be beautiful, and life giving to my True, Brave and Soul. And my Huz. How am I so blessed that he would love me and choose me, and still choose me everyday in this muck of cancer. 

And that's how we did Bali with cancer. I swallowed pills morning and night, and the rest of the time we ate, drank and were merry. 

And aside from being referred to as 'sir' once or twice, courtesy of my super short do', most of the time I think we had Bali fooled! 

Just another couple on our 'honeymoon' as far as they were concerned. And that was the best feeling of all! A true break from being a patient. Just what the doctor ordered!

the inside

I got to meet with some of our 'forever family' yesterday. For the first time in months and months. It was like taking a big gasp of air after being underwater for far too long.

Our church is kind of small and humble. It's got some broken, real people. Like me. And it was so good to be there in person and get to sing alongside others worshipping Jesus, and next to my boys who cuddled close to my legs during the worship time. To sit together as a family was sweet and so comforting. My beautiful friend Em came and joined us halfway through, and to feel encased in love after being tucked away in my own sick world for so long was especially lovely.

And just being there together was enough to refresh my soul. It was good. And I felt ridiculous for all the times over the years that I have resented going to church because of various things ranging from tiredness to not wanting to front up to having to be authentic with people after a particularly difficult week. It just felt a little silly. My perspective has changed since not being able to go for most of this year. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder.

But today it's been the little moments that have made me catch my breath, and at the times I'm least prepared for it. Just in the middle of normal I'll feel my stomach give way, and I go from being all normal to being all 'cancer-y'.

I dropped off Soul to my mum and dad's for the day, and just in the middle of talking about photos and how to get them off my computer I just felt myself spinning out. And it was the bolt of lightning to my heart saying that all of it is for nothing because all my effort is in vain to capture memories. Huz won't do all of that after I'm gone, my boys won't have albums all neatly lined up of year after year of memories. It is all for naught.

And my heart writhed in me while I pretended to be normal and discuss photo storage options, but my soul was faint with the realisation.

Another thing I can't control.

Another area of my life and priorities that will crumble as soon as I am gone.

Somehow I can't get used to how shocking this all is. This letting go. This gradual, hair pulling, nail biting, deep hallow sickness that weasels its way inside my insides. 

It's the inside of my insides that hurts.

And there's no denying the power of the grave in those moments, because all seems lost. All is lost. When I cease to go on so will every single priority I have ever set, every dream I have ever dreamt, every song I have sung, every word I have spoken. All gone. Done and dusted.

But all is not over. The Jesus in me will raise me from the dead just as He was raised, and I will go on to be with Him in the sweetest place I can dream. This heaven is more real than this earth. And there I will be.

And I bet I won't be thinking about my lost photo albums then.

Today I'm asking myself if Jesus is enough. If He's really enough for me. Enough in the face of lost dreams and futures and photo albums and moments I imagined were mine for the taking but have been snatched away. 

Is He really enough? And He's come to me before and reminded me that He is, but I'm needing the reminder again. A fresh one, because the inside of my insides needs to hear it. I need to know He's enough for me, enough for this life and the next, and enough for my boys. 

More than enough.

sweet and sour

It's been an afternoon of sorts. Well, out-of sorts. Huz for whatever reason has bitten back at a few of my remarks that he has taken badly. I guess I don't blame him.

Part of the deal with 'getting better', or 'coping really well' comes the confusion for everyone about how to treat me. What is the new normal, and all that. I mean, one minute I'm flat out on the couch or bed and sleeping most of the day, and all of a sudden I'm getting amazing medical scan results and bouncing around like a new little puppy who has been locked up too long. I actually really do feel like a puppy -just wanting to go go go until I literally collapse to make up for all the lost months.

But that does make it pretty confusing for handsome spouse and wonderful family who are trying to interpret/continue to support sick/bouncing puppy moi. 

I'm a little confused myself.

The 'rules' seem to shift beneath us each time I take a step of health. This weekend we spent the morning clearing out the back garden of branches and foliage to prepare for bushfire season, and I did my first bit of cooking with the boys and my beloved Thermomix with a yummy chocolate cake for morning tea. Then in the afternoon we headed off to Crossroad Bowls to take the boys bowling! This morning I went to church for the first time in about 9 months, and this afternoon couldn't help but try to trim back a large bush that  was getting out of control. 

Then this afternoon I kind of crashed out.

After all the sweetness of an unusually busy weekend full of life and packed with heaps of family time, I just kinda hit the wall.

It was at this point that Huz hit his own wall.

His wall was made of my requests (read: jobs I've asked him to do) all piling up, stacked up against a whole pile of Sunday night tasks like making lunches for the week and putting a baby seat in the car.

He was not happy. And so while I inwardly crumbled he kinda did too. And it was in front of our crowd of littles, with True commenting that 'adults fight too sometimes' and so our tribe watched Huz and I fight fair over the extra load, the working around all the little changes, all the declines, all the 'can'ts'...and the can'ts that have become can's. It's super confusing.

I don't really know how to navigate this, and all the while as I'm getting these fabulous results, and feeling my energy levels elevate I'm inwardly struggling to keep it together. 

Waking and feeling somehow alone, moments in time with boys giggling loudly beside me and mayhem of bikes on the deck and Soul wanting to get in and out of various dress ups, and I've fazed out to that darker place where I'm confused about how to just be right now, what to feel and how to be in the moment, because I'm feeling good now so there's pressure to be fully 'here' fully present and lap it up. And I do. Mostly. 

But there are the moments now I'm doing so much better that really I'm doing so much worse, and my heart is taking a beating, and I'm fatigued from how wonderful it is for everyone else that I'm 'doing so well right now', because playing along is kind of mandatory, even though I am at a loss as to how to walk it out because I've never been dying before while trying to live so hard. 

I'm tired, and rest for my soul is hard to find today.

So when Huz is baffled over how I can go bowling yesterday and be too exhausted to make school lunches today I don't know what to say.

It's just the sweet and sour of 'doing so much better' I guess. But it's unfair that I get to choose the sunshine and not the nitty gritty tasks, and I've promised myself I'll save him from that.

Just not today.

oops.

My True lost his first 'for real' tooth on the weekend.

When he was four, Brave and he were playing on the couch and jumped down at the very same moment, ending up with Brave's head having True's tooth lodged in it. Now while this event did entail a visit from the Tooth fairy, this time was the real deal.

It wobbled and wobbled for a few weeks or more before an apple took it out. Huz searched around and True looked everywhere, but it seems it was swallowed somehow.

So a note was written and placed in the little bag to hang on the door instead of a tooth. Just so a certain fairy wouldn't get confused.

Luckily all worked out, and the Tooth fairy came through. She's good like that.

Cha Ching! $4 right there.

Score.

I just love this kid's grin. There's something awesome about how it changes with each tooth's coming and going.

(These smiles were achieved by the promise of a 'chubby chup' afterwards. Unfortunately I was rewarded with strained expressions from the older two and a strangled youngest. Sorry Soul. Was worth a go.)

3rd birthday letter for Soul

Dear Soul

Beautiful time keeper of my joy these past three years. How can you be three my sweet, soft cheeked boy? 

Happy Birthday darling!

Today it's like I'm seeing you with new eyes. The baby of my three boys is now so much not a baby. You assert your three years with long sentences, 'grown up' phrases and understanding so much more than surely you should at only three!? Today we have opened presents (lego of course) and gone to the shops hand-in-hand with you choosing a chocolate cake for this afternoons celebrations. Daddy and I have had you all to ourselves for most of the day, and you have been utterly delightful. Cheeky, chatty and so very aware that this day is your birthday, your day to be the centre of attention; the star attraction. And why not? So it should be!

We stopped in at the florist on the way home - you started a detailed conversation with the florist over your brand new hat and how it was your birthday - turning three of course- and you even threw in a mention of 'fake christmas' the celebration we held last weekend as Ali and her family won't be in Australia for the 25th…there was nothing you weren't happy to talk over with this lovely stranger. Oh my goodness, how grown up you are becoming, and how confident too.

You know your own mind Soul. You are stubborn and won't let go of an idea if you can help it. You understand the justice of 'time outs', and have experienced probably more than your fair share of them! When something is fair though, you are on board.

I am undone by your eyes. Those big eyes looking at me and telling me 'I love you mummy'. This is the best. 

We have a new little nighttime routine at home since you have recently moved into the daybed from the cot. You are the first of my three who likes me singing you to sleep, and oh my goodness I am revelling in the joy of it. To sing over you is such a treat! You love nursery rhymes equally as well as 'Jesus love me' and 'Jesus loves the little children'. We have started to finish our singing with the 'One.Two.' that the older boys learned at BSF some years ago. You are so darling as you lay there in the huge bed, utterly dwarfed by its length.

It reminds me that although you are still small Soul, you will be big soon enough. These days of quiet routines at home are beyond precious to me. I am so blessed to be your mama.

Love you baby,

Mummy xx

off balance

Feeling a little knocked off balance these last few days as both Ali left to go back to Turkey, and then my Soul had his birthday. Oh the emotion that flooded me! My goodness.

It was time for Ali to go.

She came when I was first in hospital over two months ago, when a pain crisis hit me, and my Huz sat by my bed for a week or so as the doctors had whispered conversations with him about how serious this was. 

End of life.

In my dazed, drugged up state I didn't know what he was shouldering, the kinds of conversations the palliative care team was having with him. He tells me of vague late night conversations we had together about this being the end, and how to talk to the boys about what was going on.

Huz gathered my three boys on the bed and told them that Mummy might die.

The awful conversation that no one ever wants to even think about having with a 6, 5 and 2 year old. My Huz gently came to them and navigated that without me. Me in a hospital bed, sleeping and hazy, not understanding the severity of what was happening.

And then the funny side of my hallucinations all drugged up where I sat bolt upright in bed and demanded he use the 'Glen 20'. And another time when I pointed to him and told him that he 'was not in my basket of happiness'. What! 

And so Huz called Ali, and Ali came. The most amazing, selfless gift. My sister flew from the other side of the world with her husband and my three beautiful nieces by her side. All to see me. All to not 'miss me' just in case this was when I would fly away to heaven.

There was one more hospital trip after that. When my red blood count dipped to 40, and from Tennyson they rushed me to the RAH only to be given a battery of tests, blood (of course) and then declared free to leave. All very dramatic. All pretty pointless.

But that first hospital stay was a turning point. I came home to a palliative care team willing to administer heavy drugs at the drop of a hat, and a most unwelcome addition to my bathroom: the shower chair, because standing up for any length of time was pretty impossible.

So Ali came and lifted my heart as she stepped in to help care for us. To join the amazing family who have been caring for my boys and my house and for me all year.

Slowly over the weeks I got stronger. With the change to a new chemo of Xeloda my body had a chance to rest from the relentlessness of the previous one. I'm a bit in love with this new chemo to be honest. 

But now she has flown home. I'm glad it's her flying home to Turkey instead of me being the one to fly home to heaven those few months ago. This time now is a gift. Absolutely.

And the birthday of my baby, my Soul, my sweet chubby cheeked, chatty littlest guy is a reminder of God's goodness and presence in these last three years. 

The best kind of reminder. 

Because then it smacks me in the face that it's three years ago the words 'breast cancer' were spoken over me, and I refused to understand at first. And so the beautiful of Soul and the ugly of this disease are a little bit interwoven over the years, and I am thankful and tired of them being so closely linked, but it's the kind heart of God that I see mostly in how He hasn't written off these years of sickness with nothing but the cancer to see and feel and know and embrace. No. He has given us new life in the midst of it, and this bigger, more awesome story being written despite sickness being ever present, despite me having to contend with drugs and aches and appointments. 

I have Soul.

I have this little guy to love on and laugh over and see good in his beautiful life. I have hope for the awesome story God is writing even now over him. And it puts cancer in it's place, because in the light of the main story line, cancer doesn't even get it's own title if you ask me.

So Soul's birthday is rock bottom emotional and full of deep deep meaning and mystery, and I spent most of it just being with him, playing lego, watching him water paint and sing. And when I put him to sleep I sang all my songs of love over him and prayed again that he would taste and see that the Lord is good.

I love that kid.

I miss my sister.

I'm thanking God for lending me grace in the moments I can't imagine living through just when I need it. His grace in the hard is ever present.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 
2 Corinthias 4.18

mummy & me date: Ollie

Brave and I took ourselves off for a date together a couple of weekends ago.

He had heard about my date with True awhile back and really wanted to go to the Plaster FunHouse too.

We had a ball.

just before we left...

stopping to get a bite to eat…found a car ride on the way

i love this kid

not too old for PDA yet!

Brave choose a motorbike to paint

this kid never gets sick of a good old pose

Brave concentrated SO hard on his painting

The recent lost tooth + chocolate face = love

First up we took ourselves to devour something chocolate (Brave's request) and found a car ride on the way. Brave chatted away and got well and truly stuck into his treats. We had so much fun together just painting…he got quiet and concentrated with all his heart on his motorbike creation. He picked out a rainbow with a heart for me which I went to town with sparkles and all things girly (!)

When we got home again we had just had the loveliest time together. Lots of chats, lots of cuddles, lots of painting, lots of eating.

I could hang out with this boy all day.

Love you Brave! Thanks for the date!

friday afternoon my way

Feels surreal.

I am at home with my three guys. But there's no one else here with me! Just little old me!

I tell you it's thrilling.

Has it been long since I've experienced the heady power of being the sole adult in charge of the three people I birthed and breastfed, clothed and nurtured? 

Just about 9 months I reckon.

The fact that they are all currently banished to separate rooms of the house due to rowdy behaviour, and have been told to read quietly on their beds or play with lego somehow hasn't dampened my mood. Nor has the teensiest bit of stern talking (read: yelling) I mustered to get them to stay put.

No. Being in charge, being alone here without a chaperone to watch over me is awesome.

The tide has turned in my treatment. The last few months have held a scary pain crisis, two separate hospital stays, a change in chemo, Huz taking a few months off to look after me, and my beautiful sister rushing her entire family home from Turkey to be with me.

And now here I am doing much much better. 

By much better I mean I am here. Alive. Alive and thanks to an easier chemo actually able to get out of bed and be me!

It's a milestone.

And so here I am, doing it my way, after months and months of many hands helping me, and although I know this is a season, and all seasons have a way of changing, I am so thankful for this little piece of 'normal', this little moment of my old life back.

Thanks God.

And all day I've been pottering with Soul, in and out to the garden and back, babying the new plants I have just put in, sorting and bagging up old clothing for the boys now it's the change of season, and just kind of nesting. 

Then there's that dark corner of my heart that taunts me to consider the why of all this nesting, this preparation, this organising and tidying and putting right…and no, I won't go to that dark corner today, not when it's my day to be me, not when the sun won't stop shining, and my lavender is blooming, and the children's voices are scheming a new game to play. 

I won't go to that dark corner that taunts the steady closing in of the end of me, the end of all of this life, this beautiful and big life. Not today. 

Today, I did it my way.

'come what may': what I want my boys to know

'In sickness and in health'.

That was what he promised me 12 years ago. To love me and serve me in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better or worse. He vowed it. Sealed it with a ring and kissed me in front of all our family and friends.

I've always known he meant it, but the last few years Huz has had to walk the talk. The 'in sickness' is a bigger part of the story than what I guessed it would be.

And it got me thinking. About what I would say to my tribe of boys as they look forward to one day standing next to the girl of their dreams, and putting that ring on her finger and vowing sweeping statements with a heart of love.

True, Brave & Soul: Dad is showing you everyday what it is to be a man of God and stand alongside his bride and love and honour her in 'sickness and in health'. He is the one to watch, the one to model your character on. There are many many men who will run at the first whiff of trouble. The first glimpse of difficulty in their marriage: perhaps the routine monotony of the everyday or the lack of appreciation for how difficult their life is, and some men bolt. 

So instead of sticking around for the hard (the super hard) stuff, they use this opportunity to walk away and resume some kinda easier life than what they find themselves locked into.

My boys, know this - your Dad is serving me daily, and honouring me daily as we are together facing my cancer, and as i'm going through chemo for the second time. It's not easy, it's not pretty. However, it is dramatic, life changing, soul wearying and gut wrenching. And your Dad sees it all. Every drop of the pain, every pull of bad news, each and every new 'in slow motion' deterioration and side effect. All of it.

He is the one to find me blubbering on the couch (again) when he gets home from a long day at work, after he has made school lunches and gotten his own tea and tucked you three littles into bed because I'm too exhausted. 

He's the one who sits and listens and holds my hand in his, or my bald head in his arms and works to find the words I need to hear. He is the one who stays up late and finds no relief from the thoughts that come about the future without me.

'In sickness and in health'.

We have had many years of health together. Many years leading youth group together, renovating our house together, playing with our sweet babies (you!) together. Enjoying being with family and friends, going on holidays. Beautiful, long, treasured years. Life has been good to us. God has been good to us. 

But this life is a beautiful, messy one and now we are 'in sickness', and this is where your character will be shown my boys if you choose to marry your girl. And if not 'in sickness' perhaps it will be another kind of hard. 

Whatever it may be you have vowed to be there with her. You have vowed to love her with the love of Christ, and when your own strength fails (or even before it does) you will have the strength of Jesus to draw on for those terrible lonely days when they come.

But don't bolt. Don't skip out on your marriage when the season gets rough and you can't find the convenient answers to solve it all and neaten it up. Stick with your bride. Stick by the vows you made, and trust (even if it's 'cold blooded' trust - the hard trust without the feelings attached) that God has made a way through this hard thing for you both.

And today, when I am light-bulb bald and teary and pale I think back to the vows Dad and I made. The ones I made when my hair was thick, my eyelashes long and my figure slim. When our love was brand new and fresh and so very young. And it sits next to our love now which is deep and full and knows all the cracks and faults. Our love now which has been tested in the days of mundane and the weeks of pain, and the years of joy. Our love now which binds us happily together by a thousand strands of moments together. 

And maybe it's easy for me to say these things to you my boys…I've been the one difficult to live with, bursts of anger come easily to me, and opinions flow out of my mouth strong and heartfelt. Dad is the one to ask about how to love gently and true. Dad is the one who has spurred me on to keep trusting Jesus. Dad is the one who is steady and kind and believes the best in me despite myself. When Dad compliments me I believe him. His integrity is unshakeable. His love reminds me of Jesus' unfailing love.

So boys of mine - True, Brave and Soul - take your vows, and woo your girl. Vow to love and serve her in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better or worse. And then seal it with a ring, and make sure you kiss her!

Mum xx

south rd

The trip to Tennyson Cancer Centre takes about 20 mins from our place, maybe less if there's not much traffic to speak of. The bleak grey of South Rd stretches forward without much fuss. It's symbolically drab, depressingly familiar. I'm carving out a more elaborate, inconvenient route to chemo so I don't have to look at its ugly face so often.

The white lines can blur as silence fills our car when conversation won't come.

Huz and I have travelled it's path after devastating appointments with Dr K. Sometimes following scans, often times after blood work or chemotherapy have been completed. Many times travelling back home knowing I had to head back the very next morning for more chemo or another blood transfusion.

I'm getting sick of South Rd.

The morning of our appointment with Dr K this week I blurted out to Huz the secret thought I'd mulled over and over in the dark before the sun crept into our bedroom. 

'All this chemo, and I am so wiped out from it that I'm not really living anyway. I don't want to keep doing it'.

And it had hung there, my honesty air drying (feeling more like dirty laundry).

And it couldn't be answered, this secret thought of mine, for all at once there was (aren't there always) three littles to attend to. Littles to help find school uniforms for, pour cornflakes out into bowls and find lost socks.

And my words were left to hang out. Words for later - you know the 'later' that real grown-ups speak of; a civilised time in which mature adults pour a glass of wine once the littles are in bed, taking a moment to consider and talk through the aforementioned feelings one declared so rashly earlier on.

oh yeah. That later.

And the appointment came and went, chemo came and went.

And then there was South Rd.

Huz drove. Bit the bullet and dove in. Slow words coming. Gently. He's so gentle with me. How does he know my heart so well when the pain of this sickness skews my words so often, skews my perspective. And he calls it: I'm doing this chemo for the boys. My side effects are manageable. The cancer hasn't shrunk much, but it hasn't grown either. It has been worth walking the long dark trench of the last six months. It has been worth it. 

But we're only halfway down South Rd and the grey drabness clings to me. The skewed thoughts cling to me too. And I'm making a mental list of all the drab, all the grey hard moments that have worn my heart down to this. The mental list that includes the isolation of long lonely days at home without Soul when this would have been our year together, just us. Eyelash-less eyes. A hoarse voice that won't let me sing. Waking up early to take tablets for that clinical trial. Not fitting into my clothes anymore. Being a tired mama all. the. time. Aching for more more more of my loves. Knowing I will leave Huz, leave True, Brave and Soul, leave all our family and my sweet friends. Being perpetually in the middle of the longest goodbye of my life.

But I digress.

I think I let silent (maybe) tears roll, and I pushed past the words themselves because he always does that for me, and I listened for the heart in it. It wasn't hard to hear the heart of love beating out those words for me.

He wants me here as long as he can have me. And if the roles were reversed, oh my I would want that very same thing.

And I want to give that gift. It's just that I'm tired and I'd kinda like to rest from this disease. Plus, I'm not very brave.

But I will keep swallowing pills, keep doing chemo as long as I'm allowed, and keep driving down South Rd.

Because I love my loves.

be strong and courageous

My boy True has a soft heart that meets mine, sometimes on days when I least expect it. Yesterday his words broke me in all the best ways. Words hidden amongst a family drive-just a way to spend time together after a whirlwind of school holiday and work commitments drove us all in separate directions this past week.

My True had missed his Daddy who had been working late to meet a big deadline. I hadn't noticed the disconnect. But he was a little shadow to his Dad over the weekend. Keen to help on projects around the house, thriving under the kind words his Daddy threw over him like a warm blanket after being cold to the bones.

Driving to the bakery in Meadows we listened to a story together - the one about a heroic little crop duster who wins a huge race with a little encouragement from his friends. (Thanks Disney) When we arrived we had Brave a mess of car sickness, Soul keen to run around, and a True wanting to be given responsibility and be Dad's helper.

We grabbed donuts and coffee on the way to the playground, and the boys slid and swung and hurled themselves around despite the chilly day. Huz pushed them on swings, I sat and drank in the moment: Me out of the house and living life with my family - sweet sweet times. And I promise I didn't even whinge about the cold (which I absolutely normally would have) because who could be cross at bone chillin' cold when I was with my littles instead of waving them goodbye from the couch.

And we are walking back to the car when True says, 'This was the best day I have ever had in my life'. Oh my boy. My True. And he tells Dad first, and when he gets to me I whisper back in his ear so it's our secret, 'This is my best day too'. And I scoop him up in a cuddle because I still can. 

And then there's the part that breaks me again. The part where we sing loud and free to music on the drive home - that CD that never gets played anymore because that was what I used to do back in the day when life was normal, and Mummy cooked and ran the house, and that's when I would play these songs - hoping the Truth would sink into little hearts as the music beat out the Jesus story...

True and Brave remember the words - some of them - and we just sing sing sing. 'Be Strong and Courageous' begins, and I remember how my breath catches at the Hope ringing true in the lyrics. Then True's voice belts out the words, 

'Be strong and courageous
Lord of the Ages, 
Holds all His little ones safe by His side, 
Be strong and courageous, 
The Lord of the Ages
Holds all His little ones safe'.

And for all the reasons you can guess and all the hidden sadness too the tears are rolling, rolling down my face and they won't stop as I hear his beautiful, high, confidant, true voice ring out in the car reminding me that God will hold him when I am gone because doesn't He hold all his little ones safe? 

True has often times been too shy to sing out loud, but when I look into the revision mirror, he is singing with gusto. I can almost see the deep truths penetrating that heart of his.

And that's when it happened. The little family drive becoming sacred. The space to be together - just the five of us - and my boy True soars. His heart meeting mine and breaking me in all the best ways. 

fill their cups

I caught myself out.

Just realised what I've been doing. All of that sneaky loving on my boys. My heart aching to see them last night when they slept over with cousins. The need to hold Brave's hand in the car after I hadn't seen him for 24 hours. The counting down till I see True when I pick him up in an hour.

So, why is it so hard to stop kissing my boys, studying the intricate details of their faces more intently, and squeezing just a bit too tightly when we cuddle? Is it possible to maybe fill their hearts to the brim with my mummy love so that when I'm no longer here they will still know, still be tangibly in my love anyway? Can you do that? Like preparing in advance? A cup of love filled to the brim.

I've been trying.

And going grocery shopping today reminded me again how fatigued I get walking that trolley around Pasadena Foodland, and how I came close to leaving my trolley full of groceries in the line to find a seat to sit on when I started to feel weak. It reminded me that I'm not well. That I'm not healthy. That I need to squeeze tight and kiss too much and tickle these boys of mine everyday.

And it exposes my lack of faith that without me their lives will be full of the goodness of God, His presence, His guidance, and his biggest of all love. This big love that has wooed me all of my life. And He will woo them, and He can do this without me in their lives, and even just writing that makes me mad, because what could be better for my four boys than to have this mummy, this wife here-in the flesh here-to do what I love: do life together. 

And I can't even weigh up how it is better for me not to be here, for them to process the loss of a mother when this story I've been handed is too big even for me to walk out, much less my little men. And their hearts are so very young, so very tender. A good friend told me recently that God is very gentle with our hearts. It comforted me to hear that, and I have been praying that somehow these incredible boys of mine would see me walk this ugly thing out holding the hand of Jesus and seeing it is well with my soul. That my God is good, that He is to be trusted, that He will never ever leave me or forsake me, and that His heart is for them. All out, 100% for them.

And there's a desperation to wanting to stay with my Huz. I feel that desperation today. And it's so yuck that I'm the one going, and all that's being asked of him feels so very huge, and it comforts me that he will be here to raise the boys because he is an incredible father and the best, the very best man to love them, but it's awful that we won't get to do it together. Actually it's kind of unimaginable. We make such a great team. I almost don't know myself when I think about who I am without him. We are one entity in many ways…I can't process this leaving when it feels like leaving half of myself behind.

So the struggle to live this out is wearing. I'm weary from laying on my couch day after day. I'm weary from my mind constantly ticking over. I'm weary from the sadness that I've had to make room for in my spirit. It's demanded such a lot of room in my heart and life and the processing of this cancer, this not being healthy, this unable to grocery shop/drive/look after my kids alone kind of change is weary. I'm weary from what feels like being cut off from the people I love and the life I love to live.

But despite these things, it is well with my soul. It is well with my soul. I've got this on repeat as my broken heart is trying to fix eyes on Jesus. It is well with my soul.

mothers heart

I woke with the faces of my littles in my mind. Sweet, soft faces with huge eyes and questions, always questions to ask, and laughter that comes easily. Oh my littles. You are the three I sobbed over when I was alone falling asleep last night - you beautiful, frustrating, incredible darlings.

And it's these faces that turn the constant cog to write down all the small details of this beautiful life, because I am the keeper of so very many memories, moments with you three, and these moments are rich as gold and deeply precious, and how do I give them back to you when articulating it is so unbelievably daunting?

Moments like discovering the dimples in Brave's cheek when you were hours freshly made. Marvelling at the detail of how He made you, with the softest skin and eyes that met mine and never did look away. The boy with the name made up on the spot during labour - a perfect name for such a light as you Brave.

Moments like True finding worship at church irresistible to dance to when he was 2 years old-a dance from his happy place, a dance that in itself was his toddler worship. A dance that made my heart see the joy of abandoning yourself to the moment, and put to shame my inhibited, self conscious singing beside you. Small feet tapping and a body moving as one little unit. True joy.

Moments like the first smile Soul gave me from his hospital bed after he came out of cranio-facial surgery at 7 months old. Bandage wrapped swollen head, tiny tiny body, jagged stitches and a smile. I could breathe again. A tough fighter and dearly loved one. That smile undid me.

And these moments pile up in my mothers heart, and there are too many to dig through, carefully collected and counted and tucked away. Countless deeply happy, life is beautiful moments, of which I am the keeper. I have to believe that my Jesus will do something fabulous with such moments as these. They inspire my heart even in it's brokenness, they have made my life such a rich treasure, they will be carried in my mother's heart all of my days and into eternity.

But now I don't have too long to give the gift back to you my True, Brave and Soul. How can you know the way I drink you in, the way it refreshes my soul to be next to you doing this life. Can you know the intricate way I have studied your sweet faces, knowing each and every curve of the nose, small freckle on the cheek, cowlick and expression? 

And the moments themselves may look ordinary on the outside, but these moments cuddling in bed and eating rice bubbles at the kitchen table, tickling and sitting by the fire -these are the delicious moments full of the very best of life. These are the moments I ache over in all of the new knowledge. Knowing that I can no longer be gluttonous in my desire for endless days with my tribe of boys. I love our moments together. I have gathered them to me and I am the keeper and long to be now also the giver of them.

I just wish I could find a way to give the gift of all of these moments right back to you. So you would know that you know how loved you are by this lucky mum who counts it all as grace as the moments pile up. 

And this part of my story is hard, and you boys are the ones I fall asleep crying over and wake up smiling over. You are my portion and joy in this life.

I am more than blessed.