Pathways of Connection

Pathways of Connection

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Pathways of Connection
Pathways of Connection
Letters to My Son: From Loss to Hope πŸ’›

Letters to My Son: From Loss to Hope πŸ’›

Chapter One: Nick's Diagnosis

Janine De Tillio Cammarata πŸ–ŠοΈ's avatar
Janine De Tillio Cammarata πŸ–ŠοΈ
Jul 04, 2025
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Pathways of Connection
Pathways of Connection
Letters to My Son: From Loss to Hope πŸ’›
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Thank you for joining me in Letters to My Son: From Loss to Hope. This is my exploratory memoir-in-progress about losing my son to leukemia and how I came back to hope and a life of joy. Because of the vulnerable nature of this writing and opportunity for Outsider Witness feedback, this is for paid subscribers only.

πŸ’› If you’re a parent who has lost a child and would like a three-month subscription, please DM me on Substack so I can send you a code. πŸ’›

Read Here to learn more about Outsider Witness and why I’m writing this story.

Audio is below behind the paywall.

Content Warning: Loss of a child, cancer, grief

curly haired teen smiling
Nick, 12, taken a day after diagnosis at family gathering. (photo by author)

Chapter One: Nick’s Diagnosis

Friday, July 4, 2008

Through the glass shower door, I saw Luke. Someone from Albany Medical Center had called about Nick. I shut the water. In that shower I was a mom of two amazing boys, a wife of a husband so opposite of me that we were two halves of a whole, an author of one book, owner of a publishing company, editor of a magazine, and so much more that was joyous and good.

As I stepped out of the shower, my world tilted.

We had to get Nick to the hospital. Something was wrong with his blood.

We should have been walking to the July 4th parade so Nick, 12, and Stephen, 10, could watch the parade and collect candy.

Plans changed.

While Stephen got to ride on a fire truck, we loaded Nick into the car. As Luke and I drove to the hospital, Nick sat in the backseat bummed that he had to miss the parade but seemingly unconcerned as he peered out the window. When Nick asked what I thought was wrong, I chewed the inside of my mouth. Pulling my shoulders down from my ears, I kept my voice light, not wanting him to go where my mind had already gone. I told him that I didn’t know but we would find out and handle it together.

We entered a bland area of the emergency room and sat in a small room that had a bed, counter with a sink, medical supplies, cabinets on the wall and a couple of chairs. The acrid scent of bleach and hand sanitizer burned my nostrils. Nick sat on the end of a cold, cushioned table, his muscular body crinkling the thin protective paper under him, his legs dangling off the end, still carefree and hopeful. Luke leaned against the counter, arms crossed. I sat on a chair next to Nick, my hand on his leg.

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Β© 2025 Janine De Tillio Cammarata she/her πŸ–ŠοΈ
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