This past summer my husband took our daughter to her first Women’s College World Series game. Being nine months old, she really wasn’t going to remember anything about the experience, but it was a big deal for my husband. Due to work, I was unable to go. So I made them promise to send me an absurd amount of pictures.
I smiled as I received picture after picture of my husband and daughter with the USA Softball Hall of Fame Stadium in the background. But then I received an image that caught me off guard, confused me, and made me tear up all at the same time.
At first, I didn’t know why my little girl would be holding a sign during the game. I couldn’t quite make out the words. As I zoomed in, I realized that my husband and daughter actually ended up attending the game sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Signs were given out to write the names of people that have been affected by cancer.
And there was my little girl. Holding a sign. Saying, “I go to bat for my momma.”
And I cried.
I cried because cancer was the last thing that I ever thought I would experience. I cried because being called a “cancer survivor” still doesn’t feel right. I cried because cancer took away my sense of security, my ability to have children, and, for a while, my hope. I cried because two years ago feels like a lifetime and yesterday all in the same breath. Being reminded about cancer was a tough pill to swallow.
But there she was. My little girl. Holding a sign. A sign for her momma. A sign for me.
Because I’m a mom. A mom who had cancer. A mom who came into motherhood in an unconventional, but absolutely beautiful, way. A mom who prayed for hope. Who prayed for that little girl.
So, yes, cancer took a lot from me. Security. My life plan. Peace. An actual organ.
But it gave me so much too. More than I could have ever hoped for. Little one, cancer gave me you.
