It’s absolutely asinine to think you’ve been robbed of your little boy life now for 6 months. Thank you cancer once again for ruining our lives and everyone else that you touch.
6 months without your silly monkey ways, 6 months without your little squeaky voice, 6 months without your ever so impressionable smile that could melt a person’s heart with one glance, 6 months without being able to hold your little hand, 6 months without your sweet lips on mine, 6 months since I’ve snuggled and held you close, 6 months since my heart went to heaven.
Oh how I wish I could have gone with you. Sometimes life just seems so meaningless, like we’re just going through the motions to just get through the day and on to the next.
Where is everybody when you need them?
I don’t sleep well, I haven’t now for 3 years, but now it’s worse. I lay in bed after usually falling asleep on the couch holding Sissy, but totally awake and now running my mind through the never ending slideshow of your life and death. Would you be able to sleep? Would you be able to sleep knowing the place your baby boy, your hero once slept, is now an empty spot. I look over at your daddy and want to just smack him sometimes for being able to sleep as soundly as he does, (he doesn’t on the nights I work though, haha, cuz of Sissy). Could you sleep knowing that everything that your beloved little boy ever loved, had ever done, colored, played with and cherished is now in a big storage container in his “new” room. Knowing everything is in there, but not having the strength or courage to even look through it or pull things out to make your room feel more of a little boy’s room than just daddy’s office. Knowing that if you did dig through it you’d probably have a major melt down and cry session. Sometimes its better not even go there. But sometimes a good cry session is all you need to pick yourself up again and go through the never ending motions of life once again, life without you Cashy…life that will never be the same.
I lay awake wishing and hoping you’d come running through the door with your big cheeky grin on your face, just because you missed me and wanted to squeeze in the middle of daddy and I. Oh how I wish I could be tired from being up all night with you, getting you water, even cleaning up your throw up if need be. I wouldn’t even care about laying in your pee, like we often had to do because you’d soak through the sheets and your super absorbent nighttime diapers twice a night sometimes, I’d gladly do all the dirty work over and over if it meant getting to see you again. But I don’t, I lay awake in a sleepless cycle of regrets and what if’s, could of’s and should of’s, because your dead and I can’t change that reality.
The things that keep me going and make me have semi better days are because of the people that have grown to love you so much buddy. They followed your story and a lot of them are perfect strangers, people we’ve never met before, people who poured their hearts into prayers, meditations, positive thoughts for you. A lot of them are friends from the past, friends that I’ve made because of you, and friends that have always been around. But it’s the strangers and the friends from long ago that have picked up on your story and have fallen in love with you, you’ve changed so many lives in your short little life here on earth, it’s seriously amazing. I get so many heartfelt letters and messages weekly from people that you’ve changed their life through their learning of your story. Isn’t that phenomenal Cashy? That something so amazing came out of something so negative, and destructive as cancer.
I got permission from one of my friends from elementary and grade school to repost a message she had sent to me awhile back, the things she said really stuck with me, it warmed my heart and made me feel really good. Thanks Karen! :)
First I want to say that you are an amazing woman. The strength that you and your family show is unbelievable and truly inspirational! I look at your FB page almost daily and I love your blog. Your little Cashy has changed so many lives and has inspired the world.
Because of his story and your posts, so many families are making a healthy change. I for one love reading your posts about nutrition (second of course to stories about Cash). Thank you for bringing to light the world of GMOs. It scared the crap out of me to know what I had been feeding my boys. We have made the organic switch and I am now a crazy label reader. I would love to know more about all the changes that you have made to your diets and such. I still feel a little…okay a lot…overwhelmed by it all. It is harder with the older two boys because they are so darn picky when it comes to food. They would have lived off of chicken nuggets and turkey sandwiches if I would have let them. It’s hard to find substitutes for all that ‘bad’ stuff. Taybor (the youngest) was easy. I never fed him store bought baby food; he wouldn’t eat the nasty stuff. I made all his baby food myself and he is a completely different child.
Months ago, you wrote about juicing and it had me instantly researching juicers and I fell in love. It is my one guarantee that they boys get the veggie nutrition that they need. I never in a million years thought that they would even touch spinach or kale let alone eat it!
Thank you for sharing Cashy’s story with everyone. I don’t know how you manage to do what you do; wife, mom, nurse and world changer. Sounds like Super Mom to me.
So how amazingly sweet is that Cashy? You’re helping change the world little by little. I get a lot of these message, letters, emails like this and it truly touches my soul each and every time I get one. So thank you all for being there for my family and me during this difficult last year we’ve had. Nothing in life can be worse than losing your own child, especially to cancer…nothing. So every little word of encouragement, every little message from your heart really helps me keep goings. So thank you all, and thank you Karen. ;)
Cashy, everything in my mind is jumbled. I can’t get the night you died out of my head. The images are imprinted in the back of my mind and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the pain and heart ache that went on that night. We were so unprepared, so in denial that you were “dying.” Never once did we think that you were going to actually die. We were so hopeful. There were never talks of funeral plans, what you would wear, how you would be dealt with, i.e.; cremation, embalming, burial. I honestly never once thought about what we would “do.” I just thought that you would beat this, that we would cure you that my momma skills could just make you all better. Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do for their little boys? Kiss and make it better with a Toy Story Band-Aid? Well you can’t put a Band-Aid on a friggin brain tumor, as much as I’d like to think I could, but I just couldn’t make this one better this time. You got tired. You put up such a hard fight. I get flashes of that night you passed, almost like a war veteran would get “flashbacks”, I get cancer flashback; I have “momcology” PTSD. I picture you gasping for air like you did for that hour that night. I was so scared for you. All I could do was panic, cry and fear that you were suffering. I wanted you comfortable, which you had always been. I think the whole stigma of “dying” made me panic and made me feel like you needed something to help ease the transition. But the oil did it, ten minutes after your second extra dose of oil you breathing slowed, you were calm and you were able to just cuddle with us. I wasn’t calm. I was a wreck; I was in a zone of an adrenaline rush. A certain kind of adrenaline rush no parent should ever have to feel. I remember telling you how strong you were and how proud of you I was, and I remember telling you it was ok to let go. I actually told you it was ok, that daddy and I would be alright. I lied, we’re not alright, and we’re not ok. We miss our little boy more than anything.
I was admiring the coffee table yesterday. I examined every little sticker that is forever stuck to it, stuck by your little fingers. I’m so glad I never removed all those stickers. They will forever reside there, just like your everlasting angelic presence is in my heart. A real smile inside me exists, every so often. Once in a while there’s a smile, a smile that I can let go without the guilty feeling and that little devil that resides on my shoulder saying, “why are you smiling? Your son is dead; there is nothing to be smiling about.” But once in awhile, I can muster up a smile, but how can that smile be real and true when your heart is so broken?
Daddy and I will be flying out on Thursday morning to San Fran. We’re excited to get away together and spread some Cashy cancer awareness. Hopefully John and Corinne will give us a tour of all the must sees in San Fran because all the other times we’ve been there; there wasn’t much time for that! Can’t wait guys!!! :)
Well Cashy, I will say goodnight and tell you once again that we are all hurting for you. We will be hurting for you for the rest of our lives, but our lives that you are going to shape for us to live, so we can live to the fullest potential possible. Because living any other way would be a disgrace to you and everything you fought so hard to live for. We want to live life to the fullest for you Cashy. Kinda like the “what would Jesus do” motto. What would Cashy do? That’s how I wanna live. (That’s a lot of lives, and life’s, haha, kinda a tongue twister).
Oh and the little baby that was born last week named Cash Michael, well they decided to change his middle name to Hayden and let YOU be the one and only Cash Michael. I thought that was so sweet and I cried to myself when a fellow nurse that had her as a patient as well told me this yesterday. Wow so incredibly amazing of them, to honor you like that buddy. Man I miss you.
I love you to the moon and back buddy, to the moon and back.
To learn more about or to help out the Cash Hyde Foundation, please visit www.CashHydeFoundation.com or to follow Cashy’s Battle Blog.
UnitedPatientsGroup.com and The Cash Hyde Foundation team up to fight pediatric cancer! Thank you for your support!
UnitedPatientsGroup and The Cash Hyde Foundation:
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