Telling the Kids

Maya asked me how my appointment went and if my “boobs smiled pretty?” when I picked Lincoln and her up from school that Thursday afternoon.

I didn’t laugh out loud like I did earlier in the day at the question.  With the numbing medicine wearing off at this point, my chest was throbbing at the biopsy site. It was hard to ignore or pretend like nothing had happened while they were at school. 

Tyler and I had talked briefly before I left to grab them about what if anything we were going to share with the kids until we knew more. We decided it would be best to wait.

But, now here they were asking about the pictures of my boobs.  

My mind raced, “What should I do? I’m too much of a mess to pretend that everything is okay.  Should I be honest? Vulnerable?  How do I explain it?”

And then it came to me “bad guy analogy,” like when the kids are sick.  

I have always explained to the kids when they would get sick that they have “bad guys and girls” in their body making them sick. AND, I rolled with it…

“Well, they found some bad guys in my boobs when they took my picture,” I said.  

“Lincoln, who is the worst bad guy there is?” I asked.

“Hmm, probably Thanos,” he said.

“Okay, good and who would be a middle kind of bad guy?” I asked next.

“Zoom or No, REVERSE FLASH would be in the middle.” Lincoln said

“What about a low level bad guy?” I asked finally

“That would be Zoom, not as bad as Reverse Flash.” Lincoln said matter of factly and proud with his bad guy tiered system.

“Well, when the doctor saw the bad guys in the picture they took a device to cut one of them out to see what bad guy is in my boob.” I explained to the kids

“So in a couple days we will know if it is Thanos, Reverse Flash or Zoom.  AND just like Flash, I will have a team of scientists to figure out how to get them out of my boob.” I exclaimed with superhero-like speech

“Wait, so they cut one out of you?” Maya asked

“Yes.” I said

“Did it hurt?” Lincoln followed

“No, not when they did it because they numbed me. But I am a little sore now because the medicine is wearing off.”  I responded

Then we drove off home talking about what adventures they wanted to do during winter break. 

As they were giggling and talking to one another the thought entered my head, “What if this is the last winter break I have with them?” Tears welled up in my eyes. 

“F***. How is this happening?”

Reflection:

I think most people would agree that one of the hardest parts of receiving life-changing news isn’t just hearing it—it’s having to share it with the people you love. For me, that meant finding a way to tell my wild, young, innocent children that something was wrong, without taking away their sense of safety.

In that moment, sitting in the car with their backpacks half unzipped and their imaginations still buzzing from school, I realized that all of our lives were about to change. I was balancing fear, honesty, and the instinct to protect them—all while trying to make sense of it myself.

And yet, in their superhero logic and unfiltered curiosity, they met me exactly where I needed to be met. They gave me a language to explain the unexplainable. They reminded me that even in uncertainty, there can be connection, courage, and unexpected moments of grace.

That afternoon will forever live in the space between what I feared and what they helped me hold—proof that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is tell the truth gently, even when our hearts are breaking.