#2 How do I tell my kids?

There definitely seems to be different opinions about how & when to share the news of a cancer diagnosis with children

My sons were 5 (just), 9 &3/4 & one week off 12 when I was diagnosed. Initially, I was in the "let's not tell them yet" boat. I'm not sick yet; wait until I need treatment; I don't want to burden them; I don't want to scare them... all those thoughts passed through my mind over the first 24 hours.

Then my mother offered another perspective. They're smart and they'll pick up on something being "off." What will happen when I have conversations with family and friends? Will I constantly want to be on guard, hiding it from them? What if they find out accidentally if someone else says something in front of them?

Tricky stuff.

We've always fostered honesty in our home, even on the tough subjects. I have a vivid memory of being about 10 years old when my great grandfather died. Mum took us for a visit days before he passed, but we weren't told it was going to be the last time we saw him, even though the adults knew. I have never forgotten the sadness, anger and disappointment I felt when I learned that I had not been given the full opportunity to say goodbye.

Earlier this year, my Nan died of pancreatic cancer. All three of our boys knew when she was diagnosed with it and this allowed us all to thoroughly invest time, love and intention into every month, week and day in the time leading up to her death. My boys visited her the day before she died and they got to say goodbye.

I knew I couldn't start another standard now. We are committed to honesty as a
family value and would figure out how to live that out now too. The boys had heard the first phone call from the doctor with my high white blood cell count... they were half informed already.

So, for me, the question shifted from "do I tell them?" to "how do I tell them?"

Family in all its fullness

I can barely remember what I said now... even though it was less than two months ago. It wasn't traumatic, in fact it was simple and beautiful; it was family, in all its fullness.

• We had the conversation in a safe place, our evening dinner around the table.

• I remember I was very intentional not to cry.

• I kept the facts short and simple, nothing complicated or confusing.

• I didn't make any promises about the future (good or bad).

• I highlighted the hope in the diagnosis.

• Anton and I sat where we could hold them, hug them, connect with them.

• We lent into our faith and Gods goodness.

• We gave them an opportunity to ask questions and respond.

• I checked on them each individually at bed time.

Out of the mouth of babes

What I remember most vividly of that evening are snatches of my children's responses: their search for understanding, their care and their strength...

Malachi, my eldest, had the big "why" question - one too hard to answer. With hugs and tears later that night, we both let go of the need for answers and, instead, decided the best we could do is walk into the unknown together, knowing we have each other.

Judah, my middle son, has a strong and tangible faith. When we snuggled up for bedtime prayers, he reassured me "it sounds like a mild cancer mum, and God is good." His simple statement of faith is a something I often lean into when I'm feeling less than positive about the future.

Ezra, my youngest, had the toughest questions later that night: Gran-Nanny just died of cancer - will you? Can I get cancer? Those questions broke my heart, but also offered the opportunity to reassure him. Both his grandmothers have had cancer and survived. Our neighbour has had cancer and survived. Other people he knows well have had cancer and are still living and breathing. In his young life, his only memory of cancer is a thing that caused his great-grandmothers death. My diagnosis gave us the opportunity to explore that life is possible with a cancer diagnosis and reframe it in his mind.

The days since sharing

In the first days after telling my boys, I'd check in on them every day. How were they coping? Any more questions? Any concerns/ fears? Malachi was able to reflect and empathise with another boy whose mother was going through chemo. Judah had a hard time in the first few days at school, so I told his teacher to ensure he had the support he needed. Ezra continued to live life with a clear sense of security in his surrounds.

I don't regret telling them. Initially I hated it; hated feeling like a burden, feeling like this will probably be a reason they'll need counseling when they're older. I was so hard on myself.

But they have been a light in my darkness. They've processed it really well, they've been resilient and it has brought us together as a family. We get to lean into each other for the care and support we each need. They are understanding when I'm feeling low and we savor the good times with a deeper appreciation for the blessing in the moment.

Courage, Love and Legacy

When our worlds are rocked with unexpected news and we're left reeling, it's not long before we start thinking about the other people in our world who might need to know. If we have children, they'll be up there on our consideration list. Do I? Don't I? How can I? Before we take steps in any direction, considering our "Why" or "Why not" is a courageous conversation to have with ourselves. Unpacking our "why" will help us get clear on our purpose, get clear on our motivation; it'll reveal the foundational values of what's important to us in this moment.

My "why tell them" was because I want to go through life fully with my children - demonstrating the power of love in both the good and the hard times. Once I was clear on my why, the what do I say and how do I set up the conversation to go well become much easier.

If you've found yourself in the position of having to have a cancer conversation with your children, take the time to peel back the layers and understand your own values, motivation and purpose for having or not having the conversation with them.

Feel free to share your why or why not in the comments below.