People always say time will help but I don't believe that....

I can't believe this much time has gone by without you here.   People always say that time will help, but I don't believe that.  The more time that goes on, the worse it gets.  I have to keep going on without you.  I have to live every day with out you in it, and it's not right.  This wasn't how everything was supposed to happen....but now it's been almost five months and it feels like what's left of you is just slipping away.  

I can't even walk by the "Boy's Section" of the store without tearing up. I just want my Son back.  I want to remember you, and not remember how sick you were or how you suffered, but I can't.  I think of you and I go back to that moment everyday.  You were the best part of me, and now I've lost that.  I keep myself going for your baby sister.  We talk about you every day, and she looks at your pictures and says your name.  

I guess for now I just have to keep doing whatever I have to to survive life without you.  We all love and miss you so much....

Our lives are made up of a series of moments...

Lately, thinking of you is torture.  Not just because you're not here, but because when I remember you, I remember how much you suffered.  It almost hurts more than the fact that you died.  I am scared that you felt pain, or that you were scared.  I don't know how to describe the feeling, other than telling you that it makes me feel like I'm dying on the inside.  My heart is broken for you, and to add to the hurt, I'm torturing myself more by watching Now is Good, again. It helps me to feel the pain that I try to hold inside all the time, and it breaks my heart over and over again.   

I wish my memories of you were happy ones, but instead, I remember how pale your skin turned, and how you almost looked like you could be sleeping.  I remember holding you, and your arm falling behind my back.  I remember the coolness of your hand, and how I held it in a way that would make me feel like you were holding it back too.  Now all I have left are little moments that I'll never get back.  

 I'm finding it harder and harder to remember how happy you always were, even though you spent most of your life happy, even when you had no reason to be. 

 I just want this pain to go away.  How am I supposed to live the rest of my life without my son?  Why is life so cruel, giving me something so special, and then taking it away from me?  I just don't get it...I need something in my life to make sense!

The more I try to understand life, and why this happened, the more I don't understand it.  People try to make themselves feel better by believing that everything happens for a reason, but it's just not true.  There is no reason for an innocent child to suffer, and die.  Trying to come up with a reason for all the terrible things that happen in life is crap.  Terrible things just happen.  And we just have to live with it.  

Reality hits, and you're gone again.

It's been just over a month since you died, yet it feels like it's been a year.  Every morning, for just a moment when I wake up, I think you might be waiting for me down stairs on your bed, and then reality hits, and you're gone again.  I feel like I'm living in an alternate universe where I have to tell myself everyday that you really did exist, because now that life feels so far away.  I try to keep myself busy everyday so I won't be sad, but the sadness still finds a way to creep back into my heart.  The worst part is reliving that horrible day when you died, over and over, again.  I remember every moment of your breath slowing down until you just couldn't breathe anymore, and it makes me so, so, sad for you.  You had to go through so much pain and suffering, and it kills me.  I wish I could have taken all those moments away from you.  Even through the toughest times, you were brave and had a smile on your face.

It makes me so angry, because there was never a cure for you.  You never had a chance, you only had time.  We went back to the clinic the other day, the doctors read us your autopsy.  The tumor had grown very large, and wrapped itself around your heart, leaving you with just a small piece of your right lung left to breathe from.   They said that the tumor showed that all of the chemo you received while we've been in Boston, did nothing.  Your tumor did not shrink at all, it may have given you just a little bit more time, but it never shrunk.  

It's hard to think that this is how the rest of our life will be.  I'm scared for us, and I'm scared for you.  I just wish I knew that you were okay.  I wish I could tell you how much I love you, and miss you.  Your sister misses you too, she says your name now.  She'll point to a picture of you on the wall and say, "Ti-tin."  I'm scared for the day when she'll ask me about you.  How do I tell her that you died?  It's hard enough when I'm around strangers and they ask me about my kids.  How do I say that it's just one kid now?  I really don't know the answers to anything anymore, life doesn't really make sense.  I'm just trying to do my best to go through each day until we meet again.  We all love you so very much, Christian.  You will be in our hearts and on our mind, always...

"Did you know that childhood cancer kills more children than any other disease in America?  Yet the National Cancer Institute spends less than 4% of its annual $5 billion budget on pediatric cancer research. We believe that our elected leaders have an obligation to protect our most vulnerable citizens by making childhood cancer research a national priority."- The Truth 365

Below I have linked a petition to urge the President and Congress to make Children's Cancer Research a PRIORITY!  Please take a few moments to sign, and if you can, please donate, every little bit helps!

http://www.thetruth365.org/petition/
http://www.thetruth365.org/one-voice/donate/
http://www.childrenscancer.org/main/ways_to_donate/

You should have lived....

It's been sixteen days since you died...and it hurts me even more because you should have lived.  How did this happen?  How can you have the best odds in defeating cancer, and still come out with the short straw?  When you were first diagnosed with cancer, we were told that you had a ninety percent chance of survival, and the tumor had a favorable histology.  I really don't get it.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you are gone.  I only hope that you felt no pain.  I'm the saddest I've ever been in my life, and the only peace I can find is knowing that you aren't suffering anymore.  

I saw you in my dream the other day...it's weird because my dream had nothing to do with you, but you appeared in my arms and gave me the biggest hug you've ever given me.  I told you that I loved you and you said it back to me too, and then you were gone and I woke up.  Dreams are the only place I can talk to you anymore.  When I'm awake I can only remember the way you died...and how you looked.  I can still feel the way your hand felt in mine... Now all I have left of you are memories, and your ashes.  I'm wearing some around my neck in a  sea turtle pendant so I can always have a little piece of you right next to my heart.  I know this pain will never go away....I'm just going to have to learn how to live with it.  I just don't know how I'm supposed to go through the rest of my life like this, though.  

You were four years old, you shouldn't have died....I should be holding you in my arms right now.  It's not right, it's not supposed to be like this.  You were truly a Saint, Christian, different than any other child I have ever known.  You were so happy all of your life, never complaining, even though you had every right to do so.  There was something so special about you.  I still remember, as a baby,  I was so scared of letting you go, for a month I barely let anyone touch you, even your own father.  I couldn't stand the idea of not having you in my arms.  I literally would not set you down.  You stole my heart from the minute I found out I was pregnant with you, and you will have it for the rest of my life.  Please know that I love you so much, Christian Mark Bryant.  My heart will ache for you every day for the rest of my life... 

Rest in Peace Christian Mark Bryant 12/12/2010 - 03/30/2015

Love You Forever  

But at night time, when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor, looked up over the side of his bed; and if he was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

- Robert Munsch

Thank you, Jason Frank, for the beautiful pictures.

Jason A. Frank

Sports Editorial and Commercial Photographer

131 High St.

Waltham, MA 02453

(330)-635-1247

http://www.jasonafrank.com/

It's weird the way life turns out sometimes...

"While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about." - Angela Swhindt

Hi everyone, I know it's been quite sometime since I put up a blog post about Christian ( or my thoughts about him ), so I decided to write a little update on him, and talk about something that's been on my mind.  Firstly, Christian is doing quite well right now.  He is home, and starting to gain back a little of the weight that he lost.  His tumor hasn't grown since he got the intensive chemo in January, and right now he's staying stable.  He is getting an oral chemo at home, but Chris and I have got some decisions to make about where we go from here.  The chemo he's getting now, he's gotten through an i.v. before...it worked, but it won't work forever.  It's a hard thing to make decisions about someone's life, especially when that decision can kill them, and especially when that person is your child.  He can't tell us how he really feels or what he wants, we just have to decide and hope that it was the right thing to do.  I never thought at twenty two I would have to be thinking about these things....it's weird the way life turns out sometimes. 

But on to what's been on my mind for a while, and please don't take it the wrong way, it's not meant to upset anyone.  It's just something Chris and I hear all the time from people we know, or just people who know about us.  They tell us, "You're so strong, I don't know how you do it."  I don't think people realize that what we do is not strength.  I do consider us to be strong people for different reasons, but it's not because we are caring for our sick child, or dealing with the emotions that come with it.  I think what we do is the same thing any of you out there would do for your child.  We don't do it because we're super human, we do it because we have to, we do it because we love our Son.  He is the strong one.  At four, he has survived almost three years of cancer.   His strength is what keeps me going.  Christian doesn't give up, so we don't give up.  For him, there isn't something else, this is what he's known his whole life.  Some days aren't so good for him, or us either.  We get through it though, we do what we have to do to get by.  So I guess what I'm really trying to say is that, we are not special, or different from anyone else out there....we all have choices to make in life, Christian chose to rise to the occasion, and he fights everyday, so we will be there by his side, and will do whatever we can to help him, not because we're strong, but because he is, and so is our love for him.  

    

It's the little things that matter most...

 This past week was hell, and I can honestly say that I have never felt so terrified in my whole life.  We were in the ICU for over a week.  Christian's heart rate was in the 140's and higher, and his tumor had started to put pressure on his heart.  He was constantly running a temperature, and things were starting to look pretty bad.  We had a scare on Tuesday night because the machine was reading Christian's heart rate at 100, then 200, within seconds of each other.  It kept going back and forth for a little while, and then the Doctor told us that it was a sign that he was going to die soon.  Instantly I felt so panicked that I thought I might have a heart attack, and I felt like I was going to be sick.  I started crying and trying to prepare myself for what was about to happen, when a nurse came in and said that the machine was malfunctioning.  They fixed it, and his heart rate was actually down to 100 BPM.  He has been "stable" since then....slowly getting a little better.  So for now, here we are.  We were moved back to level six, the Oncology floor. 

With all this being said, I really thought that this would be my last week with Christian, and for once, I am extremely happy to be wrong.  A few days ago, I did something that I don't do a lot, I prayed to God...I asked Him to spare Christian's life, and I also asked Him if He could not save my Son, to please, please, let him have one more good day, one more day where he could just be himself.  Although I thought my plea for help was hopeless, my prayers were answered.  Christian is still by my side, fighting to get better, playing with his trains like he used to, and actually staying awake for more than just a minute here and there.  I can't stop smiling when his face lights up from watching his favorite movies.  It's the little things that matter most.  Even though his cancer is still there, I can see him getting a little better each day.  All I can say right now is, "Thank You God!"  

You might be wondering now why I don't pray a lot, if I believe in God, and with all that my Son is going through, all I should be doing, is praying.  It hasn't been so easy for me, though. I've always believed in God, but over the past few years, I started to lose my way.  I am probably the most stubborn person in the world, and it sounds childish, but I am so stubborn, that I had to be going through the weakest point of my life for me to ask for help.  I'm like that with everybody, but it shouldn't be that way.  I'm trying to be a person who's not ashamed to ask for help.  It's hard, but I'm trying my best.  

Although this week started out as the worst week of my life, it ended up being the best one instead. Seeing my Son, despite everything, improving a little every day, gives me hope, and strength.  If he can do it, so can I.

Matthew 7:7 - Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:

Sometimes we get scared....

At 12:30 AM, we drove to the hospital.  Christian's breathing was labored and fast, and he had only one wet diaper in a day.  He also needed another feeding tube placed as his came out when he threw up.  Upon arrival we found out that Christian was running a temperature, and his oxygen saturation was lower than the normal at ninety-four percent.  We also learned that his platelets were at a low 14,000.  Everything was going okay until the NG tube was replaced... The Doctor said the nurse probably hit a blood vessel in his nose which caused his nose to bleed into his stomach, which made him throw up a cup of blood.  No exaggeration! It was probably one of the worst experiences of my life so far.  I'm not scared of blood, or grossed out, but I am scared when my child throws up blood...a lot of blood.  All I could think was that my son was dying right in front of me, and how he was going through hell.  I instantly felt sick and started panicking, I can't describe how it felt really, but just imagine a time when you felt like your world was ending and multiply that by ten.  I was seriously scared....Chris, my husband, was really scared too, we kept looking at each other, knowing what the other was thinking, but trying to stay calm.  Everything is OK now, but it's not good.  We are sitting in the hospital bed watching 'The Mickey Mouse Club House,' and it's quiet.  Christian hasn't been talking that much lately but it's not hard to tell that he feels like absolute crap.  I think he wants the silence, talking is too hard.  So for now, we will continue to sit here, hand in hand, and try to forget that radiation starts again in the morning.

Life doesn't choose favorites.

  

                                   

I just held my son down while he got a feeding tube forced through his nose and down his throat.  The nurse asked me if I wanted to leave the room.  I don't understand how a parent could leave their child when they needed them most.  I'm not squeamish, but it wouldn't matter anyways.  The last thing any child needs, sick or not, is for their parents to leave them when they are scared.  This is the first time Christian has needed an NG Tube.  He's only eaten half a hot pocket in a week so it's the best option to keep him "healthy." The chemo will make food taste metallic, so he probably won't like a lot of his favorite foods now. He kept screaming after, and even tried pulling it out, but he seems a little more at peace now.  He didn't like me very much for a few minutes, but then he motioned for me to lay next to him, and he took my hand.  It's hard to look at him like this, and even harder to imagine how he feels right now, but it makes it worth it when I feel his side where his tumor started sticking out and can already notice a difference in size.  It gives me a little hope...although that probably makes me foolish.   I was told that Christian's chance of cure is one percent, and it's only one percent because the doctor didn't want to give up hope that something might work.  I will not give up yet, he's not.  I still can't believe that I created this beautiful little soul, and that he's going to be taken away from me.  This isn't the life a parent wants for their child, or themselves.  You think that nothing bad will ever happen to you until it does.  Life doesn't choose favorites.  It's been a hard road to travel, but I wouldn't go back and change anything.  He's my miracle....I hope he knows that.  

Why?

I've been contemplating writing about Christian's journey for some time now, and since I can't seem to talk much about him without wanting to cry, I figured writing would be a little easier.  If you don't already know me, then you should know that I'm writing about my son, Christian.  Christian has been fighting cancer for almost three of his four years of life.  He had a great prognosis when he was first diagnosed with a stage three Wilms Tumor.  Ninety percent.  That was his chance of being cancer free for the rest of his life.  And he even had a favorable histology!  Now, almost three years later, his tumor has grown back for the third time.  And it keeps growing back faster and faster each time.  From November 2014 to late December 2014 a eleven by five centimeter tumor grew in his chest while receiving treatments. In November, the tumor he had in there was removed, but I guess cancer has a mind of its own.  Now, he sleeps soundly, just a few feet away from me in a hospital bed.  He just received intensive chemo for three days.  All I can do is be here with him.  I sit in on a couch bed next to the window and cry.  Two members of the PACT team just came in to talk to me.  They gave me a brochure and want to set up a time to talk about Quality of Life.  Those words make me cry....when I see them, or hear them. Who would have thought that at twenty-one years old, I would have to be making decisions about my son's quality of life?  My heart breaks for him because he's too young to know what's happening to him, he feels bad all the time and doesn't understand why.  Sometimes, though, I think it's a blessing in disguise because he doesn't have to be scared about dying.  But I'm scared.  How am I supposed to live without my son?  If I'm being punished for all my mistakes, why does he have to suffer? Why are there no answers? Why? If there is a bigger picture, I don't want there to be.....I just want to be here with him, forever.  I don't know how Christian, and other kids like him do this.  How do they stay strong? How do they have hope?  I don't know anything anymore, except that those kids are the bravest people in the world.