The bed is now empty.

The room is now empty.

The smiles on the faces of the nurses are empty of happiness.

There is now an empty space somewhere between my heart and my stomach.

It wasn’t my child who died today.

I don’t even know whose child it was.

All I know is one of the children on Ward 84 passed away today.

Ward 84 is like a family, even the new faces are just family members you have not met yet. You comfort the new members and tell them it will all be ok. You form friendships with people you would not usually socialise with. You all have a reason to be close. You all have a child with cancer.

Sometimes I can almost forget that Elizabeth has a life threatening disease. I forget that actually it can be lethal. I fool myself that there is nothing wrong with her. I even wrote a post for Mammasaurus a few weeks ago saying I was thankful it was only Leukemia.

I try not to think about the cancer cells that could be multiplying in her blood as we speak. I try not to think what the chemotherapy is doing to her, the side effects that may happen. I try not to think about the fact that things could go wrong. I try not to think about the Angels who have spread there wings from Ward 84 since Elizabeth has been diagnosed.

I look for differences, those angels had a different cancer, were on a different treatment plan, were diagnosed later, was a boy, was older, was anything that means there was no similarities with Elizabeth. I can’t think that this could happen to her. Being here, sensing the subdued nature of the ward today means that I am not the only parent feeling this way. I am not the only parent who is taking stock of life and thinking about what could happen.

Tomorrow is Elizabeth’s birthday party and I think I need a very large drink and to get away from the hospital. I need to celebrate the fact that Elizabeth is alive and well. I need to focus on her and fill my empty space with joy.