Is Driving Scarier Than Cancer?

Today is a day I prayed for, dreamed about, visualized, and mentally willed into creation. It was at a time that today seemed so far away. It was more of a hope and a wish for a future that statistically had little chance of happening. It is the day Emily will get her driver’s license.

In a children’s oncology ward with my 3-year-old hooked up to tubes, IV’s, and broviacs, I would talk about the future. I would visualize the future I was praying for regardless of what the stats told me.

 I vividly remember telling 3-year-old Emily how cancer wasn’t going to be as scary as the day she got her license. I remember laughing and telling her how for “Mommy” that day was going to be waaay scarier! I wanted her to picture her future. To not give up fighting for her life because of the pain of the present.

It was at a time when I knew her will to live was paramount to her survival. 

In full transparency, that day seemed like more of an imaginative place so far in the future I couldn’t even feel it.  Most of the time I just prayed she would live until 7, the age a relapse was unlikely and I could finally resume breathing like a normal human again.

But 17?  Ten years beyond that? It was risky to ask for.

We are told in James 1:6 “But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt.”   The message translates that to, “Ask boldly, believing, without a second thought.”

It was bold to talk about the future as if it was a done deal. It was bold to stand in defiance of the facts.  It was bold to confidently paint a future for a child that she might never see.

I was scared, but I was bold. Bold is from an old English word that means “stout-hearted, brave, confident, strong.”  I believe we can be scared and brave. We can be scared and confident. We can be scared and strong.

Today I am scared and strong. Today I stood in the waiting room just after she passed her driver’s test and went in to get her license. A big sign on the door said parents and instructors had to wait outside. I did a double-take. “Wait, I can’t go in with her?” I had to hand her all of her 6-point identifications and send her off to a government agency without any windows to even see who she was talking to and just wait?!??!  As my mind struggled with this new independence I realized getting her license is more than an answered prayer, it’s a bold step into adulthood.  A world without me standing as her advocate by her side.  A world where she will need to stand boldly on her own.  I fully admit I have struggled with the idea that I might not get to be her college roommate and I might actually have to cross a state line to see my daughter. And that actually might not be every day or just whenever I want. 

How did I foreknow 14 years ago sitting in a hospital bed praying daily for my daughter’s survival that the day she got her license would be scarier?  Not just because she is driving and NJ drivers are insane, aggressive, and think 55 is really code for 95, but because it’s an inch (or giant leap!) into adulthood. At least in the hospital room, I was her voice. Now she gets to speak for herself.  In the hospital room, I made all the decisions. Now she gets to make decisions.   How, in the midst of uncontrollable cancer, did I feel more in control?

So today I am filled with gratefulness and sadness. A strange and confusing combination of emotions that have settled into the pit of my stomach.

Sadness that every day is one day closer to her living a life as a grown-up. Where she will have her own house, her own family, and she will “visit” me and not live with me.  My heart aches even as I write this.

And gratefulness that today is the day that is scarier than cancer. Today is the day we dreamed of, prayed for, and laughed about.

Today is a reminder of just how far we’ve come.

Today is the day my miracle kid got her license.

Safety First. The Quiet Death of a Generation.

I just watched a news segment on back to school in New York. A reporter asked a young child who was headed back on his first day, “What’s the most important thing you were told about going back to school?”

His answer?

“Be safe.”

My heart hurts. I expected, “Have fun!” or a least, “Make new friends!” I’d have even been happy with, “Learn a lot!”

But, “Be safe” ?!??

I want to cry. What are we doing?!??! What are we teaching our children? How will life be different for a child who grows up with safety as their first concern? Will a child who is always afraid ever be brave enough to take a risk? Step out of their comfort zone? Think outside the box? (Where, oh no! It might not be “safe.”)

We know that in order to be innovative, to step up as a leader, or even to just truly excel in life, we need to be willing to take risks.  We need to be willing to step out of our comfort zone and be uncomfortable.  To weigh safety against achievement. Are we unknowingly raising a generation of  people who will seek comfort and safety before success? Can we ever really go through life and thrive if we are constantly consumed with our physical safety?

What if those who ventured onto the Mayflower first stopped to ask, “Is this safe?”  Or what if the pioneers who migrated out west in search of gold first stopped to think, “Is this a safe choice?”  Did Neil Armstrong hesitate and say, “Wait guys…I’m not sure the moon looks all that safe.” I can’t imagine very many people would ever achieve or even do much, if safety was always the constant concern.  (I mean, most of us would never get into a car or step on a plane and certainly never dare enough to climb up Mount Everest.)  

Do you know what I’m scared of? An entire generation of people who will never experience the thrill of victory, who will never realize what they could accomplish or achieve if they would just be willing to take a risk. Because we conditioned them from childhood to …  be safe.


Now, I’m not minimizing the reality of COIVD19. I talk with my daughter about wearing her mask, washing her hands, and bringing sanitizer with her to the point she’s rolling her eyes at me on a regular basis. One of my best friends, who has probably been the most proactive throughout this whole Covid experience quarantining herself for over 21 weeks, was recently was diagnosed. (Which only affirmed to Emily that no matter what you do, you might still get Covid so you might just as well go live life with abandonment, which openly really wasn’t the message I was hoping she’d get).  So yes, with school starting, I’m definitely concerned for her safety. Our current argument is what will be an “acceptable mask” to wear to school. One that is socially acceptable (think Gap or Target) or one that mom deems medically acceptable. (Think N95, Cambridge or Vlog)

But, here’s the stark cold reality.  I’ve always been concerned for her safety.  From drop offs with her violent and abusive dad, which were ordered by the court against my frantic pleas, and continued until she was finally hurt and then given a life time restraining order, to nights sleeping next to her in her hospital bed listening to the beep beep of her vitals while cancer was trying it’s best to kill her (it lost and she won). I think about her going to college and college parties and my stomach does these funny flip flops. I think about her driving a car and drunk driver’s and then I’m the one ready to puke.  I mean the first time she went to sleep away camp I thought I was going to have a full blown nervous breakdown after the second night.  (Was she OK? Was she crying herself to sleep? Did she have sunburn? Did she tell them she wanted to go home and they just weren’t telling me? My baby needs me and someone help me break into camp and rescue her!!!!”)

Yet, I have to acknowledge that those are my fears and my job as her mom is to prepare her for life.  To encourage her to be responsible, make wise choices, and pursue life with a courageous heart in order to go boldly after her dreams. I hope that I will have given her a secure foundation of belief, confidence, and courage to live life in a way that when she’s old and gray herself, she will not be filled with regrets simply because she played it safe.

Yes, she will get hurt along the way. As much as I want to protect her from every pain, tear and heartache I can’t. I can only be there to hold her hand and remind her I’m always on “Team Emily,” God loves her even more than I do, and she is stronger than she thinks.

So, I will sanitize her up, put a mask on her face, and send her to school…and my message will be this …”Em just remember….have fun!”