This Life After Cancer.
A Message from Ali:
Did you know us BC – as some families say? Before Cancer. Did you know us when soccer and baseball schedules overlapping was our biggest worry? Or when we would spend summers at the shore?
It’s been so long, I barely remember that part of my life. The problem with that is that that’s the part Andrew was here for.
Cancer has changed my life forever – for the obvious and not so obvious reasons.
Obviously, my brother was taken from me. You all know that. I will never be able to see him walk across the stage in his cap and gown and hold up his diploma with pride or see him walk down the aisle after marrying his beautiful bride. I will never be able to watch him play soccer or baseball again – something I most enjoyed doing in life…I was so proud to watch his games knowing that’s my brother smartly running the bases. I will never be able to hug him again. That is so unfair.
Less obviously, my family hasn’t been the same since cancer welcomed itself into our lives. Before Cancer, we were blessed with many comforts in life. We spent summers at our shore house in Ocean City, New Jersey, my dad drove a nice car and life was good.
But it’s not like that happened by chance. My parents were 21 and unemployed when they got married and, together, had $900 to their name. They worked in New York City and worked their way through graduate school at Columbia University and Fordham University. My dad worked hard to work his way up in the company and I still remember nights of my mom sitting at her desk, at home, working long into the night because whatever project had to be done and done right.
Then cancer happened. Life as we knew it would never be the same. Andrew, just 14 years old, got cancer and died.
My dad never went back to his corporate job, instead starting a nonprofit to save other kids from his son’s fate. It wouldn’t bring Andrew back, nothing will, but maybe it’ll save your kid. At least that’s his mentality. That meant selling the shore house, the nice car, and seriously readjusting our entire ways of living. If you stop reading here, I’ll look like a spoiled brat, but if you keep reading, you’ll see it’s not the luxuries that I miss.
The thing is … I’m not just bitching about selling a shore house. I know that was a luxury. What I am upset about is that selling the shore house meant selling one more piece of Andrew. Andrew loved that house. He loved Ocean City, New Jersey. That house was full of memories with Andrew and I still remember crying the whole way home from Ocean City the day we moved out. Not because I was going to miss having a shore house. I was going to miss that house and not because it was some beautiful, massive house – because it wasn’t. But it was a house Andrew lived in, my brother who I’ll never get to see again, he lived there. But we had no choice. It was a sacrifice we had to make for The Foundation because leaving Corporate America to start a nonprofit doesn’t financially allow for luxuries.
I miss my life Before Cancer. Sure, I’ve met some great people in this Childhood Cancer World, but I hate this new life. I hate that Every.Single.Day. cancer is discussed in my home. Every.Single.Day. our hearts are broken, but we put on a pretty smile so our hurt doesn’t make you hurt. Every.Single.Day. my brother isn’t here.
I don’t know how much longer The B+ Foundation will be around. Maybe forever. Maybe not. It’s heartbreaking, draining and devastating work. My dad works so unbelievably hard on The Foundation, at all hours of the day, 7 days a week. We ask for your support of The Foundation, but it’s not fun to beg for money... In fact, we hate having to do that, but it’s the only way we can help families and fund research. Just last week, he was on the phone for 30 minutes – at 11:00 AT NIGHT – with a woman whose child has cancer. Going back to visit kids in the hospital is more difficult than you know, because we walked out of that hospital without Andrew. Our last memories of Andrew were within those walls, as cancer and infection ravaged his body. Our last memories of Andrew were in that Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. And for all the time and effort he puts in to it, the childhood cancer rates are increasing. The government is still not increasing it’s research funding for the kids and we sometimes feel like a hamster stuck on its wheel. Going around and around and getting nowhere.
So why is this so heavy on my heart right now?
Yesterday, we went to Ocean City, New Jersey as Kisses For Kyle Foundation was having a full-day of events for families of kids with cancer. We went because we’ve gotten to know Sharon Snyder, who founded Kisses For Kyle after her son Kyle passed away. She had wonderful plans and accommodations for the families. They undoubtedly enjoyed the day.
The weather was perfect. Traffic was minimal. Sounds like a perfect day, right? Well, this was our first time back to Ocean City since we sold the house. I cried before we even got across the bridge to Ocean City. Not because I don’t have a shore house anymore, but for the memories that were and that could’ve been. I didn’t even want to drive by the house for fear that my already broken heart – the heart that’s been broken since July 14, 2007 when I held my brother as he took his last breath – would shatter even more.
Then, we walked down the boardwalk to visit Andrew’s Bench (between 11th and 12th street, on the boardwalk across from Congo Falls Mini Golf, for you OCNJ goers). We love to see all the pictures everyone sends us when they spot Andrew’s Bench, but yesterday it hit us like a ton of bricks. Standing there on the boardwalk, we just cried. 1992-2007. Andrew McDonough. Seriously? An end date. Thank God for filters, spell check and proofreading because there are many 4-letter words that come to mind when I’m smacked with an expiration date on my brother’s life. There should be no end date yet, he should be 21.
The sucky thing is… This is our new reality. We hide it well and hide it often, but this is real and it’s exhausting to always wear a façade.
I’m not posting this for sympathy or anything like that…I’m posting this to just take 30 minutes of my Sunday to be honest with myself and all of you.
So this… This is a day in the life of a family forever changed after losing a child/sibling/best friend to cancer. I hope you never know it firsthand.
