What would you do?

I always say that my worst fear would be losing one of my children. I am beginning to wonder if I should say that my worst fear would actually be my own death. Not for my own loss, but because I wonder what my children would go through if I died. I think about this quite often (morbid?), and even had a discussion about it with William and Taylor last week.

A few weeks ago I found out that one of our playschool mums has cancer. Last week, I found out it was stage 4- maybe stage 5- and that she had been given 2-4 months, and up to a year if she does chemo. I don't know her, her daughter is in the morning class and Saoirse is in the afternoon, but I feel for her. I feel for her husband and her 2 daughters, one 4 and one 7. I feel for her family and friends- one who had just had her mother in law go missing only to be found 3 days later dead.

Not two months ago, she was seemingly healthy. She attended our general playschool meeting on February 10, with plans to go to yoga afterwards. Within one month she was unable to pick her daughter up from school.

What sort of horrible disease is this? How can someone go from vibrant and healthy to dying within in the course of 4 weeks? I know it can happen, but it so hard to believe, to accept. Back when Taylor attended this same playschool, 9 years ago, one of the dads was diagnosed with stomach cancer. He was diagnosed in February and was dead by the end of April.

I consider myself lucky that in my family, I have had only had one relative in my entire life have cancer- and that was my great grandmother, who was at the time in her 70s. This does not mean that I have not been touched by cancer, I don't think there is anyone who can claim that. My best childhood friend lost her mother 5 weeks after her twins were born 2 years ago. An acquaintance survived breast cancer a few years ago. A friend's daughter was diagnosed with leukemia when she was 18 months old. I read the blogs of mothers who have a child with cancer, the blogs of women who have lost their sister, their parent, their very best friend. Every single one of these people have touched me, have made me cry for their loss, have made me appreciate my family.

With this playschool mother I find myself wondering "What would happen if...?" What would happen if I was that sick? If I was told I would die? Who would take care of my children? Oh, I know that William would take good care of them but I worry about the little things...who would make sure the girls faces were clean before they went to school? Who would veto Saoirse's choice of a black and pink shirt with a yellow skirt and brown, pink and blue striped tights on a achool day? Who would make sure that the laundry was washed correctly? I see what happens to my house after I have worked the weekend, what in the world would happen if I wasn't there.

I am sure that they would get it all together, that eventually my teenagers would step up and grow up and lend a hand. I know my mother would be there, that I have at least 4 or 5 incredible friends who would help William with the girls, with housework, with whatever they needed.

And then there is the big question, the question that keeps me awake at night, wondering what I would do? Wondering what other people would do? What would I do if I was told that I was terminally ill but that I could increase my life expectancy by up 8-10 months if I did chemo? Would I do it? I have always thought that I would not. That I would do my best to enjoy my last few months with my family without going through the rigors of chemo.

But now? Now I don't know. Wouldn't I want another 8 months with my children even if I was extremely ill? If I chose not to have chemo would my children one day say "Why should I fight? My mum didn't" if they were confronted with a battle of their own? Or would it be worse to put them through that battle? I just don't know.

But every night I wonder.