Liza Welsh

A Letter to My Daughter’s Cancer

In Uncategorized on Oktober 16, 2012 at 06:55

Lord, teach me to love the way Audray’s mom LOVES…. teach me to have divine perspective and understanding, as you have granted her:

Dear Mr. Leukemia,

I’m writing to you on behalf of my daughter, Audrey. She doesn’t give you a second thought, but I’ve been thinking about you quite a bit. I met you many years ago when I was in high school–you killed my grandfather. And now you’re back, in another form, hiding in my little girl’s bone marrow.

You’re not a very likeable guy. I think you know that. We all fear you and want you to go away. We hit you with the most powerful medicines we have, and pray that you never come back.

You may not believe this, but I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Mr. Leukemia. You have reminded me of what is important in life. I’ve stopped wasting my time complaining about bad drivers and bad weather and bad music and bad food. (Okay, you’re right, I do still complain, but not as much as I used to!) I no longer care what other people think of me. (I wouldn’t have published this letter a month ago.)

You’ve shown me that every moment is precious, and that we are very privileged to live on a planet populated with beautiful, loving, wondrous human beings-I couldn’t see all of them before, but now I do. They’re everywhere.

You’ve brought my family closer together. You’ve revealed friends that I never knew I had. You’ve emptied me of every emotion, and when I thought there wasn’t anything left, I found the power that’s been there all along. A very quiet, gentle, reassuring power.

I never knew my own strength till you tried to take it away. I was shocked to discover that you couldn’t hurt me, that you couldn’t touch the core of my being. Every time my daughter laughs, I know how lucky I am.

Peace never fails to arrive, just when I need it. I need it now…

Hating you is easy, but I’m not interested in taking the “easy” way. You’re a part of my daughter, and that makes you a part of me, so, crazy as it sounds, I think I love you. If I don’t love you, how will I ever heal you? I really, really don’t like you, but my love enfolds you, just the same. Can you feel it?

I have no idea what your plan is, Mr. Leukemia. Will you stay or will you go? Will you reappear later on, after we’ve forgotten everything you taught us? I hope not. Besides, I don’t plan to forget any of this. I never asked you to come here, and if I ask you to leave, will you even listen to me? Will you listen to Audrey when she’s old enough to know what you are?

I’m ready for what’s next. I’d like to say goodbye-forever-to you. I’m still waiting to hear your response. Perhaps you’re already gone. Thank you for proving to me how limitless love is.

Sincerely,

Audrey’s Mom

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