Parenting
By Lisa Carter
Updated: July 2, 2020
Originally Published: April 16, 2014
When my husband and I first tied the knot, we would often find ourselves seated behind a family at Sunday mass with five energetic boys. Despite my desire for a large family, I would lean over to my husband and whisper, “Five boys… that’s my worst nightmare.” However, I later discovered that the mother of those well-behaved boys had endured the trials of cancer and lost a leg. My new fear became, “Cancer… that’s my true nightmare.”
Five years ago this month, my nightmare came to life when my five-year-old son was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.
In the spring of 2009, I was nearly living that nightmare, with four little boys all under the age of six. I was overwhelmed in a way I had never anticipated. I wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone, since I had chosen to have a big family, but the chaos was starting to take its toll. My nightly prayers often included a plea for help, for something to change so I could be a better mother.
Things did change, but in the most devastating way possible.
On the morning of April 22, 2009, the day began like any other, with toaster waffles and Playhouse Disney in the background. That week, everyone in our house had been battling a stomach bug, leaving my nerves frayed. My eldest son was still in bed when I decided to let him rest; I figured he was just sick. Meanwhile, my 15-month-old was busy turning our home upside down while I prepared lunches for an Earth Day picnic that my eldest had suggested.
As the morning wore on, Playhouse Disney continued playing, every kitchen cabinet was emptied, and my youngest was throwing tantrums. When I went to check on one of my five-year-old twins, Zach, I found him still in bed. Alarmingly, he had thrown up on the floor beside him.
I tried to wake him, but his responses were slurred, and he seemed to be staring off into space with a jerking motion I had never seen before. I quickly realized that something was terribly wrong and called my husband at work, struggling to hold back tears as I told the receptionist, “Please, I need to speak to him. I think something’s seriously wrong with our son.”
When my husband picked up, he calmly suggested I reach out to the pediatrician. But as I continued observing Zach’s vacant gaze and erratic movements, I knew I needed to call 911.
The wait for the sirens was agonizing, yet when the paramedics arrived, they rushed in to assist. They bombarded me with questions: Did he have any existing health issues? Had he ingested anything? Had he recently experienced a head injury? The answers were all negative, save for the last one. They concluded it might be a febrile seizure, which provided momentary relief, but I knew he hadn’t had a fever.
My father arrived just as they were loading Zach onto the stretcher, and I felt a wave of relief knowing I could accompany him in the ambulance. I remember wishing I had my camera to capture the moment, thinking Zach would find his ambulance ride amusing once he recovered.
During the ride to the local children’s hospital, I chatted with the EMT about our kids until Zach’s condition worsened, prompting the sirens to blare. It was then that I knew something was terribly wrong.
Once we arrived at the hospital, the questions resumed. I finally mentioned a hard fall he had taken three months prior during skating lessons. Surely that was the answer, right? Please let it be just that.
After a CT scan, the ER doctor delivered the news flatly: “It’s a tumor.” My mind raced as I tried to process the information. I could still hear the doctor, but it felt like he was speaking from a great distance. All I could think was, We were supposed to be enjoying a picnic right now, the one Zach had planned. How could a boy so full of life have a tumor?
“How does a five-year-old get a brain tumor?” I gasped, but the doctor simply redirected his attention back to Zach.
I called my husband, struggling to convey the devastating news. There was a brief pause, as if he was processing this unimaginable reality, before he replied, “I’m on my way.”
While many describe stressful situations as a blur, I remember every agonizing detail that followed. Meeting the neurosurgeon, the anxious wait for results, the chaos of the ICU, and the sinking feeling in my stomach when we learned that the cancer was inoperable and terminal.
This is a reality no parent anticipates. Just three weeks prior, Zach was a vibrant, happy child, given a clean bill of health by the pediatrician during his kindergarten check-up. Yet, he had been experiencing severe headaches—three episodes that resulted in vomiting. I had dismissed them as migraines or allergies and was about to reach out to the pediatrician. The surgeon suspected the tumor had likely been growing since birth.
That day five years ago altered our lives irrevocably. Zach lost his battle with cancer on June 10, 2010, and now, that anniversary looms heavy. He was only six years old. Our home feels quieter, and his brothers seem lost in his absence. At times, I feel as though my husband and I struggle to find joy without him.
Three months after Zach’s passing, I discovered I was pregnant again. The thought of having another child terrified me. I questioned my strength to handle it, yet this little one has brought healing to our family. He serves as a gentle reminder of Zach and, perhaps, the answer to my prayers for change. Without him, I might still be lost in the depths of despair after Zach’s death, leaving my family even more fragmented.
I can’t definitively say that losing Zach has improved my parenting, but it has certainly shifted my perspective. Messy floors, noise, broken toys, and the chaos of family life no longer faze me as they once did. Today, a perfect family is defined by love and laughter in the present moment. I strive to find joy in small things because those are what truly matter. There will always be a void for my sweet boy, but I endeavor to foster positive thoughts for the future. I try to ignore the sense that the ideal family I once envisioned has been irreparably shattered.
This article was originally published on April 16, 2014.
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