December 12, 2002
Ben is seven

Dear Ben,

I am writing you this note on your seventh birthday. Maybe you won't read it for a while, but I have a feeling that one day you will wonder what was going on in your Dad's head way back in the days when cancer was still very much making itself felt in your family. So I thought I'd write it down in an email and share it with all our friends who have been following our story. You see, those people became a very important to us during the last year or two of James' life, and during the sad time after he died. They have encouraged and supported us all an amazing way. For some reason the act of writing an email has always been a good way for me to sort out my feelings. And I have a lot of feelings about my family. This email is going to be devoted to you.

Your first birthday was a wipeout. Your mother had just been diagnosed with very aggressive breast cancer, had just had a mastectomy, was into some pretty major chemotherapy, and we were falling to pieces. On your second birthday your brother James had just been diagnosed with cancer, and we were pretty shattered once again. On your third birthday, just when we seemed to be defeating cancer, your mother had slipped into clinical depression, and things were in a mess once again. On your fourth birthday we were struggling with the terrible news that James' cancer had come back, and that he was going to die. We began cancer treatment all over again, knowing that this time the treatment would only end when James died. On your fifth birthday we were desperately trying to find an experimental cure to save James, and there was a lot of talk of the "mouse medicine", which did indeed work well for a few months. On your sixth birthday James was very ill, and it took two people to look after him all the time, and a week later he died. I can't remember anything about your sixth birthday at all, and that really bothers me.

But, your seventh birthday.... I will always remember! It started early in the morning when a very excited boy woke up his parents at 6.45am, because Mom had promised to come with us to East City Coffee Shop for breakfast on your birthday. She never gets up early, so this was very special. And she wasn't even grumpy! We took two of your presents with us to open at East City, as you like to call it for short, and I can tell you that there was quite a stir when we walked in and plunked ourselves down at our usual table. Albon the owner shouted "Good morning Ben! GOOD MORNING PAM!" and came over to see what was up, because he too knows that Pam never gets up early. "It's Ben's seventh birthday!" we said. And immediately the waitress led the whole restaurant in singing happy birthday, while one of the customers came over to take pictures of us all. As usual you ordered a Ben's special, bacon cooked perfectly to your demanding specifications, washed down with chocolate milk, which was a nice tribute to Mom, because we know she like us to choose healthy food.

Well, you went off to school, and I heard that you were so excited that you got overtired, and they brought a cot right into the classroom where you slept for an hour. Mrs McCalden knew you had a party coming up after school, and she wanted you to be at your best. Great teacher, great school. At home Mom got to work on birthday stuff, and started baking two dozen cupcakes for your party. I will tell you a secret: Mom and I decided that this birthday we would try to make up for all those messed up birthdays. Probably guilt on our part, but we try not to get too analytical. We just wanted to spoil you rotten. That's why we let you invite eighteen friends to your party. And that's why the day before I just couldn't resist taking you out for a car ride and buying you Train Simulator for an early birthday present. Anyway, Mom and I talked a lot about you, hoping that this would be a very special day for you. Actually we talk an awful lot about you and Rebecca most of the time, because for so long James has taken a lot of our time, and we are trying to put that right. For five years it seemed that cancer pushed you off into a corner. In fact one memory that still bothers me is finding you hiding behind the sofa next to James' hospital bed in the family room. I guess you had been there for some time, huddled up with your blankie, sucking your thumb. There had been yet another sudden crisis with James, lots of quiet shouting, Mom and I dashing to and fro from his bedside, James crying out in pain. There you were, forgotten again, pushed to one side, as your brother took all our attention. I am afraid that's the way it had to be, but I can tell you, we are trying really hard to put that behind us these days.

Eighteen children at Kids Spot makes for a very exciting party, and it makes for a lot of presents. I kept looking at you, seeing you having so much fun, and just like I deliberately tried to capture memories of James while he was still alive, I did the same at the party. You were so happy, grinning from ear to ear as you bounced around in those big inflatable play structures with your friends, and I have captured those moments forever in my mind. Later Mom and I talked about how good it was to see you so happy. Then we had another guilt moment, and said sternly to each other that next year we will be back to the old rule, "eight years old, eight kids to the party, that's it." We are trying to put our family back together again, and be normal. Probably we send out a lot of mixed signals. Mom and I are grieving, and they tell us that when you lose a child your life is changed forever. But you and Rebecca are just as special to us as James is and was, and you two are the big reason we want to move on and embrace life. One thing I remind myself of is that cancer is not just a thief, but cancer is also a great gift, because it teaches you the value of time and relationships. On your seventh birthday we are excited about your party, and the fun, and the presents, but most of all we are excited about you. What a gift you are to our family! I love you Ben!
Dad.