As has been happening with a relatively alarming frequency lately, things with Daughter are quite a challenge. She is going through quite a lot, I know, and it is expected that she would have some adverse reactions. Being nine when your mom goes through breast cancer has to be hard, and her frustration is perfectly understandable. She’s often angry, furious, really, and defiant. She attempts whatever she can to exert some control over her situation and, because I’m the one who is home, it is taken out on me. This leads to guilt because I’m the “sick one” and her feelings and moods go up and down like a Colorado thermometer.  It’s been rough.

Yesterday began with a lie and husband and I received the silent treatment for the first time ever that evening. We were becoming more and more concerned. How could we handle this? She refuses to see a counselor and is angry all the time at home. Her behavior with friends fluctuates between aggressive and immature, and she’s been downright rude to extended family. We were feeling at our wit’s end but tried a good, old fashioned talk anyway. After a while, we seemed to have made some progress. She finally decided that she not only was willing to talk to us, but she wanted a cuddle.

Nine-year-old Daughter climbed onto the couch and snuggled in next to me. She was between the cushions and my body, lying along my chest, stomach, and legs. Her head was resting quite painfully on my incision, but there was no way I was going to tell her to move. After a while she told me all she could hear was my heart. It seemed to have grounded her.

In all of this drama, there has not been too much good to be found, but here was a moment. When she cuddles with me, her head is right against the beating of my heart, right where it should be.