Klaus is a lot like his Dad. He must have remembered me calling him that some time ago. He loves his Daddy. He always has. Klaus is a sensitive boy. He loves me too. In fact, he wants to marry me. But there is a really special bond between Klaus and his Dad. The way Matt's parents described Matt as a child, it reminds me a lot of the way Klaus behaves. He is super cuddly and snuggly. He still climbs into bed with us at night! It gets awful crowded sometimes!
Klaus is also a special challenge. He does things his own way. He is not interested in playing with toys the way the other kids are. He requires a lot of attention and affection. I have been exasperated by him at some point every day for the last few years!!
And over the last two months since the big C diagnosis, Klaus has become more and more difficult to deal with. He whines constantly and acts younger than his age. He wakes up grumpy, acts lazy, and spends a significant portion of his day unhappy about something or another. He gets sent to his bed a lot for making grumping sounds (which I can't stand) and yelling at us instead of talking politely.
Earlier this month during a rare moment of quiet and peace in the living room (the older kids were playing in their own rooms), Klaus curled up and snuggled in his Daddy's lap. As I nursed Maggie in the rocking chair, I was able to listen to their heartfelt conversation. I can't remember the exact words but it was something like this:
Klaus, quietly: "I'm worried."
Daddy, "What are you worried about, Klausie?"
Klaus, even quieter, and practically in the fetal position: "I'm scared."
At this point, my full attention was on this conversation. I was so thankful for the unusual quietness of the house and for the opportunity I had to hear Klaus finally put into words some of his feelings.
Daddy, "What are you scared about?"
Klaus, "I'm scared that you will die."
Did he really just say that?! Matt and I looked at each other. Could this 4-year-old who previously had never mentioned anything whatsoever about cancer or sickness or treatment or anything related to Matt's diagnosis just voice with clarity his concerns about his Daddy's life?!
Matt then reassuringly explained how his treatment would help the disease. How the radiation would kill the cancer cells. How the surgery would then remove the cancer from his body completely. How his doctors are caring for him in the best way possible to keep him alive and healthy. As I listened, I felt Matt broke it down perfectly for Klaus' understanding and reassured him tenderly.
Klaus, "They will remove the cancer from your bum cheek."
Daddy, "Yes, so that all the cancer is gone and I will stay alive and be healthy."
There was more to the conversation. There were more sensitive and sweet words exchanged affectionately between father and son as they embraced each other in the silence of the living room. I got to witness this reverent exchange and I can't stop thinking of it and weeping over the beauty of it. I consider it a miracle.
This 4-year-old who has been getting into trouble for acting out, bellyaching incessantly, and very difficult to live with has been worried. And scared. Scared that his hero might die.
With this miraculous exchange on my heart, it's been easier for me to be more understanding and patient toward this delicate boy. When I see him, I see such a small and concerned child. What a tender mercy.
