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Caroline Wright reads Lasting Love to her two sons.

When the bottom falls out

How do we manage to show up for our children while confronting the unimaginable?

by CAROLINE WRIGHT / photo by JOSHUA HUSTON

On March 3, 2017, a week before my 33rd birthday, I was diagnosed with a rare, very aggressive brain tumor called

a glioblastoma multiforme. A week earlier I underwent a craniotomy to remove a very large tumor from the frontal lobe of my brain and I had returned to my neurosurgeon to discover the results of its pathology. A hospital tech had just removed 41 staples from my scalp and placed them in a small plastic bag next to me on the crisp white paper stretched across the patient’s bench. I was the Patient, the object of discussion; not the writer, cookbook author or mother of my former life. It was official, in the wails of my husband and mother’s surprise and agony in that moment: My life, as I knew it then, was over.

After a diagnosis like that, it’s strange to think life didn’t actually stop. That I, as the patient, had to get in a car and go home and somehow continue. I was still a mom of two crazy little boys, then 1 and 4, and had just moved to Seattle. My diagnosis had just become another fact of our lives then to navigate around.

Though the bottom fell out of my life and my whole world changed in an instant, some things stayed the same. Like parenting. The CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE >

Seattle ’ sChild September 2019 // Issue 476

“Seattle is my town. I know this city inside and out… or so I thought until I had kids.” Seattle’s Child is your guide to getting to know your city all over again. Finding things to do, places to eat, and how to get around — it’s a whole new ballgame with kids in tow. We’re interested in how parents make homes in a space-challenged urban environment, how families create community, and what parents are really talking about. Seattle’s Child reflects real Puget Sound families and their broad range of parenting experiences.

ANN BERGMAN Publisher, Founder abergman@seattleschild.com BOO DAVIS Art Director bdavis@seattleschild.com SYDNEY PARKER Managing Editor sparker@seattleschild.com JULIE HANSON Website Editor jhanson@seattleschild.com JENNIFER MORTENSEN Calendar Editor calendar@seattleschild.com MIKE MAHONEY Copy Editor JEFF LEE, MD Columnist

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CONTINUED

gritty stuff — the physical scramble of unwilling diaper changes, forcible midtantrum costume swaps — was passed on to my husband or dad, while the emotional piece, the cornerstone of my role as Mom, was amplified. While Theodore, our babbling toddler, was then unaware of the emotional complexities of our world, Henry, our articulate and bright preschooler, was able to understand just enough of what was going on to be terrified. I had become both the cause and solution for Henry’s pain in one broken body.

My husband and I devoured the only useful parenting book we had on the subject of parenting with a terminal illness, How to Help Children Through a Parent’s Serious Illness: Supportive, Practical Advice from a Leading Child Life Specialist by Kathleen McCue. A friend had given it to us days after the discovery of my tumor. It became our sacred text, and advocated honest, open, age-appropriate conversation within families to protect the bond between child and dying parent. An important requirement of these conversations, we learned, was that they needed to be child-led and unforced, so the child could take on what they needed to know when it was best for them. This resulted in bursts of random, insightful exchanges woven into our day, over breakfast or climbing the stairs.

One day, walking Henry home from his preschool after my radiation treatment was over, we held hands, chatted and picked dandelions in the Seattle spring that was starting to feel like home.

As he bent over to pluck a particularly fluffy specimen, he asked as his eyes flashed:

“You’re getting better though, right?”

“I’m feeling a lot better,” I replied, recognizing the hope on his face. “I have a lot of energy to play with you now, just like I used to. But as far as the cancer goes, we don’t quite know yet. They will do more tests soon to tell its shape and size. I’m still fighting as hard as I can and doing everything the doctors say. We have to wait and see.”

With that, Henry drew a big breath into his lungs and spilled it out over the fluffy crown of seeds held in his hand. He promised to hold the wish in his heart as we continued walking home. Parenting remains a space that requires holding unknown fears — like first days of school or any period of change or growth — with love. Love became our panacea, our religion of sorts. I had been writing daily in an online journal for my boys out of love to care for their future selves, while tucking them in at night in service of it, too. Writing was a space untouchable by cancer, something that made me feel less like a patient and more like myself. Then one day I woke up with an idea that would preserve the philosophy we had come to develop as a family in an immortal space: A children’s book, for them to discover at precisely the pace they needed, regardless of whether I was the one to read it to them.

The result of that idea evolved into a book called Lasting Love, the simplest distillation of my parenting philosophy, for my sons: That a parent’s love is tangible, permanent, and lasts forever. As if the end of a vivid yet very surreal dream, Lasting Love was published by Rodale Kids, a division of Random House in New York, on Aug. 20; the most unbelievable part of it is that I am here to read it to them.

Caroline Wright is a cookbook and children’s book author living in Seattle with her family. q carolinewrightbooks.com

‘We can never go backwards’

Remembering a life well lived, and a mom who will be missed

by SIERRA KAPLAN-NELSON

Editor’s Note: Ann Nelson died Aug. 4 after slipping off a path while hiking in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area. She was a mother of two, Sierra and Gabe, and wife of David Kaplan — a fellow UW physics professor. Ann was a world-renowned physicist, outspoken advocate for diversity in the science professions, more than 20-year active member of Seattle’s Mountaineers Club, and remembered by many who crossed her path as “a very kind person who really stood up for people who were marginalized.”

Her daughter Sierra posted this tribute to her mom on Facebook; we are republishing it here for all of us moms wondering what gifts we might give our daughters:

You taught me to appreciate every flower, every tree and every berry. You taught me a love for reading and complex characters. You taught me an openness to the world and a love for learning languages and traveling. I’ll always admire your lack of assumptions or judgment in new places. I’ll miss your insights about people and the ironic things they do. I’ll miss being silly with you and laughing at the world and ourselves. I’ll miss watching you throw yourself into every new passion. I’ll miss your enthusiasm when I became excited about something new.

You gave me a love for creativity and art, even though you laughed at me when I got tired at museums and leaned on you. You showed me the joy of eating food you’ve grown or picked yourself, and the joy of trying new recipes and new flavors. You showed me how to be a proud nerd and show your love for nerdy fandom unapologetically. You taught me how to feel strong and yet not hard. You made me feel powerful and confident without the validation of others. You taught me it’s fine to answer a question wrong in class, and that there’s nothing embarrassing about failure. You lead by example, showing me how to be a woman who isn’t bothered by societal expectations or concerned with body image and beauty. You complimented me by telling me I was strong and healthy. You cared so deeply about many issues but never centered yourself. You were always brave in showing what you believed in and practiced what you preached. You used your position of power and reputation to lift others up, and never worried about being too outspoken. You showed me people are never done learning, and wanted me to help you understand new issues and activism today. You taught me a love for science and asking questions, and always encouraged my curiosity about every detail. You taught me about black holes and supernovas how many quarks there are in the universe, and about the weak force. You taught me how time works and why entropy means we can never go backwards. You gave me a love for the unknown, and the beauty in the questions we haven’t solved yet. You taught me a love for hiking and climbing, reaching new summits, cooking around campfires, skinny dipping in freezing lakes and sliding down glaciers. You taught me how to be careful and prepared, never taking unnecessary risks. But you also taught me that some calculated risks are worth it and that we can never prepare for everything. You told me people fall and die at the parts of climbs that aren’t scary, because that’s when we’re not being as careful. And you told me that if you died hiking I should be comforted knowing you died doing what you love. You showed me how to be a mom. You were loving and supportive but always gave me space so I could try on my own and fall down sometimes. You were there whenever I needed you and made me feel that every moment you spent with me was special. Yet you lived your own life and accomplished so much. I don’t know how you did it without sacrificing anything. I am so proud to be your daughter. I know you’ll always be with me.

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