I’ve always been a playful mom. Most days, you can find me outside with my boys, chasing them through every season skiing down hills in winter, paddleboarding across lakes in summer, biking through trails in the fall. Being active is a huge part of who I am. My ability to keep up with two energetic little boys has been one of my proudest achievements as a mom. And their laughter make all worth it.
And then came breast cancer.
My five-year-old son noticed. He seemed to understand that Mommy couldn’t sled down the hills with him anymore. Instead, he was happy to trade outdoor adventures for couch cuddle sessions, and somehow that small shift softened the edges of my despair. And his hugs remind me I was enough.
One day, he asked, “Let’s play iPad together.” First I shrugged. “That’s not really a Mommy thing,” I said. Or, “That’s why you have a brother.” Then I realized this simple request was one of the few ways we could still play together, side by side, while I rested.
So, I downloaded the apps, set up our avatars, and prepared for what my son proudly referred to as “class.” He said to me, “I’m going to teach you, Mom. I’ll teach you how to be strong.” I felt proud and inspire.
Cancer was the ruler in our real world. I had surgeries, chemotherapy, nausea, weakness. And he felt powerless. But in this digital world, he had control. He understood the rules. He excelled. He could protect me. And its gave me hope and peace.
So there we sat, side by side on the couch, tapping our screens and breathing together. And in those small moments, we recaptured each other’s strength-his and mine.
