Talking to My Kids About Cancer (What Worked for Us)

When I heard the words “you have breast cancer,” my mind immediately thought of my boys. They were in elementary school at the time—old enough to sense something was wrong, but still young enough to need gentle, careful explanations.

How could I tell them in a way that was honest, but not terrifying? How much detail was too much? Would they even understand what “cancer” meant? These were some of the hardest questions I faced in those early days.

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Waiting Until After Surgery—But Sooner Than Planned

Our plan had been to wait until after my double mastectomy to tell the boys it was cancer. I wanted to reassure them with certainty: “Mom had cancer, the doctors removed it, and I’m going to be okay.”

And I did talk to them after my surgery—but it happened earlier than I had carefully planned. One day on the playground, another child told my son Blake, “My mom is bringing your family dinner because your mom has cancer.” The child meant no harm, just repeating what they’d overheard at home, but it caught us off guard. Even though I had written in my online updates, “Please don’t tell our kids because we haven’t had these conversations yet,” once you share your story publicly, things can spread faster than you expect.

That moment meant I had to sit down with the boys before I was ready. And while it wasn’t the “perfectly mapped-out” conversation I had imagined, I realized that’s okay. Parenting through cancer means sometimes you’re forced into honesty earlier than planned. What mattered most was that they heard it directly from me.

“Parenting through cancer means sometimes you’re forced into honesty earlier than planned.”

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How We Explained Surgery

Before my surgery, we told them a few days ahead that grandma and grandpa would be coming because Mom needed surgery. We explained, “Mom’s breast isn’t working the way it’s supposed to, so the doctors are going to remove it and make new ones so Mom can be healthy.”

My boys were somewhat used to the idea of surgeries—I had two back surgeries before—but they weren’t used to Mom being in the hospital overnight. Afterward, when we told them it was actually to remove cancer, we explained that we hadn’t wanted to say anything until we knew all the details and could reassure them that the cancer was gone.

We also used it as a teaching moment: this is why we go to the doctor for check-ups and why you should always speak up if something doesn’t feel right. We explained that there are many different types of cancer—some more challenging than others—and that thankfully breast cancer has treatments that can help Mom get healthy.

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Facing Their Fears

My boys already knew cancer was scary because my friend Colin had died from leukemia when I was in college. My youngest even carries Colin’s name as his middle name, and we talk about him often. They understood that sometimes people die from cancer, so it was important for me to explain that every cancer journey is different. I wanted them to know there are also many, many stories of triumph and survivorship.

Colin lived by the quote, “Make life count.” That’s something I live by now, and something I try to pass on to my boys as well.

“Make life count.” — Colin Hines

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Talking About Chemo and Changing Plans

At one point, I was told I would need chemotherapy after doctors discovered cancer in a lymph node. We prepared the boys by explaining: “Mom is going to have chemo, which is really strong medicine that makes sure any cancer hiding in the body is gone.” We told them chemo could make me lose my hair. My oldest was especially upset—not because of how I would look, but because he worried I wouldn’t be the same Mom anymore. My youngest helped me pick out wigs online, and that gave him a sense of control.

In the end, I didn’t need chemo, but those conversations were still part of our journey. They showed me how much kids notice and how deeply they feel changes in their world.

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Explaining Radiation

When it came to radiation, we told them, “Mom is going in every day so the doctors can zap the spot where the cancer used to be, to make sure it’s completely gone.” We explained that it might make me tired and could hurt my skin like a bad sunburn. That gave them a picture they could grasp without making it too frightening.

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Trying to Keep Life “Normal”

I did my best to keep things steady. A few days after I came home from my mastectomy and DIEP surgery, I was back in the school pick-up line. I wanted them to see that even when Mom doesn’t feel well, she still shows up. I pushed myself to be at soccer games after surgeries and to keep volunteering at school.

But even though I tried, they still felt the impact. My oldest later told me second grade was the hardest year of his life because, as he said, “Mom wasn’t the same.” That was tough to hear, because I felt like I hadn’t slowed down. But it reminded me: kids notice, and it’s okay that they did. It doesn’t mean I failed—it means they loved me enough to feel the difference.

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Kids Notice Everything—Even Humor

After surgery, my son struggled with my body changes. He knew I would need more surgeries and even asked if doctors could make my new breasts smaller like the old ones because the new pair looked “way too big” in his opinion. That moment brought some humor to a tough conversation. I told him that one day when he’s older, I’ll remind him of that comment and we’ll both laugh about it.

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The Hardest Questions

Some questions were harder. My oldest asked me if a recurrence would mean I would die, and he was sure the answer was yes. I reassured him: “Mommy is doing everything possible to stay healthy. I’m taking medicine that helps make sure the cancer can’t grow, since my cancer was hormone positive. That’s why I go to the doctor, and I’ll always do everything I can to be here for you.”

💡Mom Tip

You don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, the best thing you can give your kids is reassurance that you’ll keep fighting and showing up for them.

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Final Thoughts

I didn’t have a personal blueprint for what these conversations should look like. Most of my lived experience with cancer before my own diagnosis ended in loss. It was hard for me to shift my own perspective, and even harder to help my kids shift theirs. But I realized over and over: no two journeys are the same. There are many stories of survivorship, resilience, and hope.

In the end, I didn’t get it perfectly right—and that’s okay. What mattered most was that my boys knew they could trust me to be honest, and that even in the hardest season of our lives, love and hope were stronger than fear.

With love,
Colleen 🌸