Ken asked me to do the talking. I remember we called them into our bedroom and we all sat on the bed. Looking into those sweet faces, knowing I was about to "rock their world", was probably the most heart-breaking thing I've ever had to do. I took a deep breath. I took another deep breath. I looked at Ken. He nodded his head. I took one more deep breath and said, "Remember how we told you last week that Daddy had something in his stomach that wasn't supposed to be there?" Two little heads nodded in unison. "Well, " I continued, "the thing in Daddy's stomach is called cancer and it is making him very sick." Panic wells up in Jesse's face, making it hard for me to breathe. I forge on. . . "The doctor is going to try and make Daddy better, but we're not sure he can." Jesse asks, "What will happen if the doctor can't make him better?" Now I'm fighting back tears. "Well, Honey, if the doctor can't make him better, then Daddy may have to go to heaven sooner than we want him to. But we're going to pray that God will help the doctor find just the right way to make Daddy all better." "Do you mean Daddy will die?", Jesse whispered. Benjamin's head pops up--I think it's the first thing said that really got his full attention. "Baby, we hope not, but we just don't know for sure." (Wow. . . it still gives me a sinking feeling just remembering.) We all hug each other. Ken tells the boys not to worry--he'll be fine. If only that had been true. . . :(
The only other thing I clearly remember prior to Ken's surgery was going to a lawyer's office to get wills done. It was very surreal, telling a perfect stranger what we wanted done with our stuff and who we wanted to raise our children. If anyone reading this has young children, please get wills done before you are forced to by some tragic circumstance. You should be clear-minded to make such important decisions.
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