Forty-eight inches,
a decade of growth,
curled into fetal comfort,
seeks the safety
of mother’s womb.
Smooth tender scalp
rests on her shoulder,
arms encircle her neck.
Cuddle toys can’t
fill his need
for security.
Radiation’s brand marks
the tomb of the enemy,
robber of joy, peace and play.
Plastic tubes pump
poison into his chest.
Dad is big and strong,
Mom, warm and wise,
but sarcoma sucks;
that’s just the way it is.
Filed under: cancer, children, emotions, family, grandchildren, healing, life, protection, uncertainty Tagged: chemo, childhood cancer, children, motherhood, parenting, radiation, sarcoma
