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The Helicopter Mom

In a world filled with tragedy, there is always something to fear. Sending our kids out the door every morning can be a huge task itself in our day to day life. There is always something out there that can hurt them. We can’t remain constantly at their side, watching, hovering.


I’ve always been a roll with the punches type of mom. I haven’t shielded my kids too much as to not let them experience this world. They’ve eaten dirt, fallen from higher ledges, and had the correct amount of independence relating to their age. I’m now entering a phase where my oldest Chase wants to go to the men’s bathroom on his own while I use the women’s. Honestly this terrifies me. I haven’t been able to say yes yet, and I’m realizing this is just one of the many places in our lives where I have pulled back on that rope I have attached to him since Hunter passed. In fact, when Hunter was diagnosed that “roll with the punches mom” left the building and in stepped “helicopter mom.” It’s been that way for a long time now. I changed in an instant.


Because this earth is a mess. And I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose anymore. I just can’t. When something horrible happens to our child, it’s like a constant trigger everywhere else in our life. We can’t forget certain moments that shape us in to someone new now. Chase doesn’t go very far on his own. He doesn’t ride in many people’s cars. He isn’t allowed to do a lot of the things maybe kids his age should be allowed to do. Because I fear the most tragic things known on this earth.


I know there was nothing I could do about Hunter getting cancer. I know it was sudden, out of nowhere, with no indication that I could have changed anything. Once that little cell in his brain shifted and cancer become of it, that was it. And nothing on this earth could tell us it was happening. But now I envision so clearly all the events I CAN foresee. So, my fears are greater and magnified. It’s almost as if I can see every different angle of a situation happening before it even happens. A lot of which came from our time during Hunters treatment. How we would expect a treatment to work and then it would fail immensely. I see how things COULD be okay, but I more view how they could go terribly wrong.


In an event regarding Chase, I’ll have myself to blame. My mind can so easily tell me “it’s not worth his safety”. So, I stand close to him, watching, hovering. I don’t hold anxiety like a normal mom, I hold it deeper and on a much greater level. Conversations, homework, sunscreen brands, food groups, spanking or not spanking, tablet time, video games, all these subjects don’t worry me. I don’t have anxiety over any of them. In fact, I’m probably more confident and steadfast in the little areas of parenting than anyone could possibly imagine. Sexual predators, diseases, drowning, kidnapping, car accidents, these are my normal everyday stressors as a mom


Brain tumors are rare. And no one ever thinks their child will go through that, yet mine did. So now, anything could happen.


I battle big thoughts every day. And sometimes my mind is completely exhausted at the end of the day from all that I thought could happen in those 24 hours. When I tuck Chase in at night I’m just thankful we’ve made it through another day in this broken, messed up world. And that’s no way to live, I know.


I’ve started concentrating on the peace of where Hunter is. Something that is such a precious gift as a believer. I have doubted my faith, and I have doubted God, this is the truth. But I always know in the deepest part of my soul, that this earth is shaking ground, unsteady, and unreliable. And God is not. He is constant, steadfast, pure joy, and everything good we could ever want. In the end, this earth is in fact, not the end. Spending all my time here fearing it constantly just wastes, living. Hunter is completely taken care of. Yes, never a way I imagined feeling comfort for my 4-year-old little boy, but it’s the only way I’m offered knowledge of his well being. Ultimately, he is saved, healed, and well. Now I must concentrate on creating a life of joy with who and what I do have here in this world I continue living in. And always watching over my shoulder is no way to obtain that joy or do the work I am intended to do.


So, when my fears are bigger, I focus bigger. Faith. God. It’s not just a mindset people hold on to to make themselves feel better in bad times. No, faith is SO much more. It is the only reassurance that there is a plan. The only hope that everything will be okay. And the only reason I stand up every day after watching my sweet baby take his last breath. Faith is absolutely everything, and I thank God every morning, that THIS earth is not where I find reliance.


Because I can’t feel the way I do most days for eternity. And I know I won’t.



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