Sunday Morning

I’m still cozy in bed reading a new book when Claire comes in my room. “Mom, you do not want to see what Daddy’s watching,” she says very seriously. 

I roll my eyes and ask what he is watching, expecting it’s something completely inappropriate for a 7-year-old… like South Park or Walking Dead or something like that. She tells me, “Mom, it’s Stuart Scott. He had cancer. And mom, he died. You do not want to see it.” 

I try to think… Stuart Scott? The ESPN guy? Or is there a football player with that same name? No, I think he’s the SportsCenter guy. I have to go verify exactly who he is because even though SportsCenter is often (aka nearly always) on our TV, I didn’t realize he even had cancer. As I walk into the living room I see his face on the TV with two dates and yes, it is the ESPN announcer that I was picturing. Juan’s on the couch and he looks pretty sad. Probably because Stuart Scott was a cool guy, “Booyah!” and all that, but I’m sure the reasons are deeper than that. It makes me sad, too; I go back to the bedroom.

Claire follows. “Mom, are you going to cry?” she asks. I say that it is really sad. She mentions again that he had cancer. I can see the wheels turning in her little head… putting the connections together. “Mom, are you sad because of your boob?” she asks. She isn’t upset, more curious. I do my best to explain there are lots of different kinds of cancer and Stuart Scott had a different kind than I do, but also that sometimes people still don't get well. I tell her that’s why I’m having surgery, so the doctor can get bad cancer cells out of my body. And I will do some more things after the surgery and take medicine to kill any bad cells that are left and hopefully it will never come back.

"Mom, Stuart Scott was 49," she tells me.  Yes, I say, that's older than me and dad but pretty young to die.  "Well, it's part of life and every life has to end sometime," she says. I have to smile. I know this is something we told her when our cat Berman, came to the end of his nine lives back in September.

She snuggles up close to me while I read. Every so often she asks, “Mom, are crying?” or even tells me, “Mom, it looks like you are going to cry.” I’m actually not, but the book I’m reading is at a sad point, so I’m having that feeling where you are about to to cry but trying not to and your eyeballs really hurt because the tears are right there. It really is because of the book, but it is also because of cancer.