I see you.
You are not alone.
I see you showing up every day. I see you struggling out of your bed every morning, exhausted beyond belief. I see you tossing and turning all night long, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t hurt.
I see you when you realize that doesn’t exist.
I see you tip-toeing to the bathroom in the middle of the night, carefully sneaking out of the bed around your kid(s), to go throw up from the pain.
I see you calculating how long it’s been since you did your last injection, dreading the next one.
There you are every morning trying to take the smallest bite of toast so you can take your medications.
I see you scrambling on the step stool to reach the pill box you hide up high on the microwave that sits on top of the fridge, where your teenager can’t reach. The pain radiating into every cell of your being as you struggle to put them back out of reach.
I see you carefully counting the pills in your hands as you make sure you didn’t drop any of them. You have daily nightmares that your teenager might accidentally find your medications and realize you are sick.
I see you roll your eyes as other parents complain that they’re tired. If only they could spend a day in your shoes.
I see you crying alone in the bathroom, wishing you could have just an ounce of energy that you had a year ago. I see you hiding your face under the makeup from your coworkers because you’re embarrassed of the scars from the biopsy you had done on your face in March. I see you crying yourself to sleep twice a week even though you tell everyone who loves you that you’re ok.
But, most importantly, I see you sacrificing your comfort to be the best mom you can be for your children.
I see you dragging them along to doctor’s appointments.
I see you, dealing with every bad side effect in order to hold the sickness at bay.
I see you in your flare; I hear the silence of your tears as they roll down your cheek while you’re driving to work; while you’re trying to get the sun off your skin.
I see the endless supply of Epsom salt, chemo drugs, pills, and essential oils stocked in your house. Trying every remedy known to help with your illness. I see you try again and again, willing to do anything to be healthy enough for your family.
I see you.
I see your strength, your determination, and your love grow every day.
But most of all, I see the way your child is looking at you with love and wonder. You are their world and they love and cherish every moment they have with you.
I see you never giving up.