Three Stings

I've been reading Falling Up by Shel Silverstein with Cohen, just a few poems at a time. We talk about why they're funny, or thought-provoking, or ironic. Or gross. Tonight we read this, twice:

THREE STINGS

George got stung by a bee and said,

"I wouldn't have got stung if I'd stayed in bed."

Fred got stung and we heard him roar.

"What am I being punished for?"

Lew got stung and we heard him say,

"I learned somethin' about bees today."

I asked Cohen if he thought the bees could represent anything else. He paused, leaned into me, and said, "I think it's about Mom's cancer."

"What do you mean, buddy?"

"There's the guy who didn't want to do anything, the guy who thought he did something wrong, and the guy who didn't think the bad things. Mom doesn't think bad things. She decided to do everything to make the cancer go away so she can get better."

Exactly. Love that kid.

This cancer "bee" stings. It's the physical pain of the disease and the treatment. It's guilt, sadness, jealousy, fear, anxiety. It's embracing limitations and asking for help. It's a label, an asterisk. It's recognizing that close friends sometimes disappear when times get tough. And it's realizing that this is a long-term fight.

Life isn't fair. Fair is an f-word. We can't control the cancer. But we can control how we respond to it and how we allow it to affect our family. We can choose to be happy. I just need reminders every once in a while.

Go Team Liz.