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Find Someone To Hold Your Hand

young adult cancer is hard

You know how on facebook, every day you have a “Your memories on Facebook” section where they show you a photo or post from sometime in the past?  I think the section used to be called Timehop.  Anyway, if you don’t have facebook the premise of the look into the past is just as simple as I explained it so you’re not missing anything else 🙂  Anyway, I hopped onto facebook today and this was my “memory”…

young adult cancer is hard

I skimmed over the post quickly…normally I don’t pay very much attention to these.  But then I stopped, and read the quote more carefully and looked at the date.

March 14, 2011.

My mother had died almost exactly 3 months before, I was 2 days short of a month from my diagnosis, and a couple of days from the start of treatment.  Life felt a lot like shit.  Many of my friends had just moved from the college town where I lived and I hadn’t established more solid friendships with others since I’d been living in St. Louis caregiving for my mother through the end of 2010.

Life felt VERY out of control.  VERY lonely.  VERY frightening.  My family was going through so much already as we all grieved the loss of my mother.  My mom always said that we could always choose to either hide under a table or keep on moving through life when times were tough and at this moment I really wanted to hide under a table.  My now husband, Brett, was my primary caregiver through all of it.  He was my caregiver while I was a caregiver.  He was my caregiver while I was a cancer patient/survivor.  In front of everyone else I maintained stiff walls of ‘yea, I’m doing fine!’ and of ‘it’s important to remember this is so different from my mother’s cancer.’

I don’t remember who wrote this quote or where I found it.  I do know that Brett was the one holding my hand and making it possible to be where I am today.  We spent several months completely “away from the rest of the world together” and he was amazing through it all.

Maybe it’s a friend.  Maybe it’s a parent.  Maybe it’s a long-lost cousin.  Find your hand to hold.