Sandy came over this morning. It is a sunny day and so I said, "let's go to Target, I haven't been there in about 4 months." We were taking our time, she pushing the cart, me throwing stuff in for A as always (new My Little Pony doll... I have to make this a reward somehow and not just a gift for her) and I came across this book that you see pictured above. It was written by a mom suffering from cancer to her daughter. I just broke down in the middle of good ol' Target. Right near the toothpaste aisle, where J and I met for our second date (our first kiss was in the Target parking lot.) Anyways, in it, I crossed out the word "cancer" and put "PNE". I wanted to share it with everyone. The illustrations help get the point across, but the words are poignant enough.

When I tell you I have PNE, I will be sad. I will be sad because I am sick, but I will be happy because it is not a sickness that you can catch from me, and so you can still kiss me and hug me and love me.

And you will light up my whole room with your big smile when I am resting. Then I will remember the first time you smiled.

Though you were only weeks old, I knew that I would never love anyone in the whole world more than I loved you, that day that you first smiled.

Sometimes I will feel scared, because I have to go to the doctor a lot. But I will remember the times when you were scared, times when you had a nightmare and came into my room to sleep with me. Your skin was as soft as a butterfly's wing, and you curled against me and we felt safe.

And I will be happy because you can still cocoon with me in my mommy bed and make me feel sweet and quiet.

For a while I will have to take medicine that makes me feel bad. I will look different.

But I will laugh when I remember your own sweet little baby head, how round and bald it was, and how warm it was on my lips when I kissed it every day.

I will remember how the fuzzy parts grew silky on the top, sticking straight up like little feathers, and how you laughed when I blew raspberries on your round baby belly.

There will be some days when I don't feel good, and then I will think of all the times I took care of you when you felt sick, and how I brought Popsicles for your sore throat and warm soup with crackers to fill your tummy.

I will be happy when you help me to feel better -- when you bring me tea with honey and you sit with me and tell me stories of your day.

When I am getting better, I will often be tired. Then I will think of how you slept so soundly every time you rode in your baby seat in the back of the car.

I will remember your still, soft face sleeping as you curled like a roly-poly bug in your clean white crib breathing in and out, in and out, quiet as the moon. I will dream sweet dreams when I remember these times.

Sometimes I will be sad that I am sick, but then I will think of how we have laughed and laughed at our own private jokes, and I will remember where to tickle you, and how you loved it when I played this-little-piggy games with your toes. And then I won't be sad anymore.

And then I will be well. And I will think of all the happiest times that we have had, like birthday parties and swimming and hide-and-go-seek,

and I will think of all the happy times we are going to have together tomorrow,

and the day after that, and the day after that. And we will look back on this time and remember that love and kindness really are the best medicine.