Now that Will and I have created a plan of action for ourselves, we consider how best to strengthen our sons by encircling them within a sense familial safety while imparting news that no one wants to hear.
As our second born son, Steven and his wife, Celina, live in town and as it's our habit to relate bad news to loved ones in person, whenever possible, we plan to invite them to dinner and break the news while all four of us are together. In this way, they can absorb unwelcome information, ask questions, and then garner support from each other on their way home.
As to breaking this news as gently as possible to our eldest, Barry, and youngest, David, well, luckily, we'd planned to fly to the coast that very weekend. Actually, originally, I'd planned to spend time with our sons, celebrating Ray's third birthday; Will had planned to stay home for this reason: I travel to see my mom, monthly, and though we both long to see our sons as often as possible … airline and hotel fees quickly add up to thousands, and Will plans to retire at this year's end, so his mind reacts with anxiety to 'the unknown', lying directly ahead. (Memory bank withdrawal: Will's mind is fielding referred fear from his youth when his mom worked four jobs, because money was tight after serious illness, lingering over a span of six years, resulted in his father's early demise … As for me, I understand Will's fear for this reason: My dad's store burned down when I was a teen, and upon offering him several hundred dollars saved from my summer job, I'll never forget how it felt to see my beloved father break down and cry … So Will's fear of financial change inspires mine to rise anew, except for this fact—my dad recovered his sense of financial security, so my fear did not run so deep as to stop me from flying, quite often, to enjoy time with loved ones.)
When Will tells Barry he'll not accompany me, Barry, knowing our history, says: Okay Dad, I understand. Next thing we know, our kind-hearted son makes an independent decision in that a plane ticket for his dad is sent to my email address after I'd forwarded my flight info to him. And as our minds fill with thoughts of Barry's generosity of spirit offering this heartfelt gift of love, Will and I acknowledge countless reasons to share deeply gratified smiles now that we're both flying to the coast … And if a huge sigh of relief escapes from deep within me that's because somewhere deep inside, I 'knew' I'd not have left Will's side to have fun with two of our sons, who, like Steven and Celina, are still innocent of their father's brand new battle with cancer. As you shall see, Will's cancer is catalyzing changes within me—some of which will be cause for confusion while other changes ring out clear as a bell—for example, my feeling free to leave Will to fend for himself any time before and for some time after his surgery will prove utterly impossible …
Next on our cancer-to-do list: Arrange to meet Celina and Steven for dinner ...
While dialing Steven's cell, I consciously steel my mind to invoke inner strength and reveal naught but an invite to dinner. My son lifts his cell from his pocket and after checking caller ID, he offers me a cheerful, Hi Mom. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, I ask about dinner. No can do ... I'm swamped at the office, working late. Nope, tomorrow night we have plans. Let's set it up tentatively for the night after that—I'll ask Celina and get back to you—as this is not going as I'd hoped—I feel my resolve to muster strength begin to crack—and as resolve cracks, so does my voice—and with a mental stamp of my foot, I silently admonish myself—Damn it, Annie—don't cry! Seriously, I've not cried, yet, and this is no time to start, so while I'm working to grasp at a deeper sense of courage, moments of silence shoot across the wireless connection as though conjoining our minds, sparking Steven's intuition to tap more deeply into his sense of awareness, and as my son's attitude switches to my wave length, his tone changes, instinctively, from breezily carefree to listening carefully, because suddenly, he's 'on it': Mom—is everything all right?
As our second born son, Steven and his wife, Celina, live in town and as it's our habit to relate bad news to loved ones in person, whenever possible, we plan to invite them to dinner and break the news while all four of us are together. In this way, they can absorb unwelcome information, ask questions, and then garner support from each other on their way home.
As to breaking this news as gently as possible to our eldest, Barry, and youngest, David, well, luckily, we'd planned to fly to the coast that very weekend. Actually, originally, I'd planned to spend time with our sons, celebrating Ray's third birthday; Will had planned to stay home for this reason: I travel to see my mom, monthly, and though we both long to see our sons as often as possible … airline and hotel fees quickly add up to thousands, and Will plans to retire at this year's end, so his mind reacts with anxiety to 'the unknown', lying directly ahead. (Memory bank withdrawal: Will's mind is fielding referred fear from his youth when his mom worked four jobs, because money was tight after serious illness, lingering over a span of six years, resulted in his father's early demise … As for me, I understand Will's fear for this reason: My dad's store burned down when I was a teen, and upon offering him several hundred dollars saved from my summer job, I'll never forget how it felt to see my beloved father break down and cry … So Will's fear of financial change inspires mine to rise anew, except for this fact—my dad recovered his sense of financial security, so my fear did not run so deep as to stop me from flying, quite often, to enjoy time with loved ones.)
When Will tells Barry he'll not accompany me, Barry, knowing our history, says: Okay Dad, I understand. Next thing we know, our kind-hearted son makes an independent decision in that a plane ticket for his dad is sent to my email address after I'd forwarded my flight info to him. And as our minds fill with thoughts of Barry's generosity of spirit offering this heartfelt gift of love, Will and I acknowledge countless reasons to share deeply gratified smiles now that we're both flying to the coast … And if a huge sigh of relief escapes from deep within me that's because somewhere deep inside, I 'knew' I'd not have left Will's side to have fun with two of our sons, who, like Steven and Celina, are still innocent of their father's brand new battle with cancer. As you shall see, Will's cancer is catalyzing changes within me—some of which will be cause for confusion while other changes ring out clear as a bell—for example, my feeling free to leave Will to fend for himself any time before and for some time after his surgery will prove utterly impossible …
Next on our cancer-to-do list: Arrange to meet Celina and Steven for dinner ...
While dialing Steven's cell, I consciously steel my mind to invoke inner strength and reveal naught but an invite to dinner. My son lifts his cell from his pocket and after checking caller ID, he offers me a cheerful, Hi Mom. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, I ask about dinner. No can do ... I'm swamped at the office, working late. Nope, tomorrow night we have plans. Let's set it up tentatively for the night after that—I'll ask Celina and get back to you—as this is not going as I'd hoped—I feel my resolve to muster strength begin to crack—and as resolve cracks, so does my voice—and with a mental stamp of my foot, I silently admonish myself—Damn it, Annie—don't cry! Seriously, I've not cried, yet, and this is no time to start, so while I'm working to grasp at a deeper sense of courage, moments of silence shoot across the wireless connection as though conjoining our minds, sparking Steven's intuition to tap more deeply into his sense of awareness, and as my son's attitude switches to my wave length, his tone changes, instinctively, from breezily carefree to listening carefully, because suddenly, he's 'on it': Mom—is everything all right?
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