Mark Younce

When Mark worried about his young daughter during treatment for brain cancer, her eyes would provide a reassuring gaze. 

She has always been able to talk with her eyes.
It is one of the infinitely many things I love about her.
Those big, dark orbs are most often set in a serious gaze,
absorbing and processing countless pieces of information from her surroundings.

Her beautiful little mind in action is such a treat to watch,
but I especially love watching her eyes speak.
They blink, wink, roll, raise,
darting in countless directions
to communicate passages of information silently,
quickly and efficiently.

Her gaze has expressed so much joy and happiness,
like every child’s should.
She has told jokes, with a timely eye-roll or a wink bringing about a smile or a laugh,
betraying her lovely, and, at times, sarcastic sense of humor.
But I can’t look into those eyes for too long
without thinking of all the times they have begged for help,
conveying fear, helplessness and immense pain.
The worst pain.

The pain I felt mirrored in her eyes as her father
is a pain so deep, breathtaking and sharp
that I gasp for air as I recall it.
I rarely allow myself to relive those events because of the pain tied to their memories,
but I cannot ignore the tremendous beauty of the moments we shared during her battle.

The truth is that I felt every bit as helpless as she did at times.
I wouldn’t admit it then.
Doing so would have felt like failure.
I was convinced I needed to be nothing but a rock of positivity in her life.
She couldn’t sense any weakness in me;
I needed to be strong so she could draw strength whenever she needed it.

So, I studied her gaze,
learned what each of those looks meant,
and knew how to react to the changing glances,
the focus, the sharpness.
When she was too weak to move and in too much pain to form words,
those beautiful eyes were all she needed
to tell me everything I needed to know to care for her.

Her eyes told me so many times to never give up,
and she needed to make sure I wouldn’t either.
They barked commands for food, water,
or to carry her to the bathroom.
They let me know when she was scared,
so I could comfort her.
They slyly conveyed a desire to pull a prank on a nurse,
mischief dancing in them.
They made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry.

In the depths of darkness, when I stood at the edge,
fearing all was lost,
her eyes would find me.
And in those moments, they gave me a look that convinced me
everything would be OK.

While my heart and mind would race,
running in every direction,
her gaze told me to stay calm,
that she trusted me.
As my own eyes grew heavy, dark and teary,
that look said I needed to rest,
that she needed me to gather strength for what came next.
As the hairs on my arms stood, and my gut sank,
her eyes told me to trust her,
that everything would be OK.

As always, her gaze told me everything I needed to know
in an instant.
It’s a look I can only describe as unconditional love.
That look — her love — has fueled me, powered me and changed me.

The poem “Through Her Eyes” captures the emotional experience of being a father and caregiver to my daughter during her battle with cancer.

She was diagnosed with embryonal tumor with multilayered rosettes (ETMR) brain cancer at 3 years old and given 9% odds to survive the battle through to her 4th birthday, six months later. She has wonderfully survived and is a happy and thriving first grader today, but the journey was haunting.

Through her gaze, I learned to communicate, love and find strength when words often failed her. This piece reflects both the pain and the beauty that came from those moments.

This poem was written and submitted by Mark Younce. The article reflects the views of Younce and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

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When my daughter couldn't express her words while she received treatment for brain cancer, her eyes told me everything I needed to know. 

Mark Younce

My Daughter Talked Through Her Eyes During Cancer

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