At one point today we felt that we’re receiving too much kindness. More than our fair share. We considered saying to our community, “thank you, but we don’t need any more.”

We woke up to learn that one of the businesses we’ve worked with for years has given us two nights at a very, very nice resort. Then came a visit from some friends who (along with a cooler full of freezer meats, farm eggs and home baking) delivered a cheque from their recent fundraising on our behalf.

Overwhelmed yet? I’m not done.

We learned of another fundraiser now in the works for us — this is the second one currently being advertised.

Meanwhile, in our inbox is an email from a friend who wants to bring us some soup.

That’s four acts of kindness in a single day. We are surrounded by kindness. My friend whose husband also has terminal cancer once said that she felt it would be impossible to fall down, because of all the people holding her up. And that’s exactly how I feel now.

But this blog is my private outlet for saying uncomfortable things too, and so I’ll also say this:

Sometimes I get the feeling that some of the people who know about all the kindness we’re receiving feel … resentful? Jealous? I don’t know what that emotion is, but I hear it in their voices or the pauses between their words, or see it in their body language. Maybe I’m being weird. But I do see it occasionally. This resort holiday gift is incredible. All the money that people have donated to keep us afloat is incredible. We win the lottery of kindness every single day, and I understand that some people might forget that we paid A LOT for the winning lottery ticket: the price was Brock’s health.

We got a large cheque from our private life/disability insurance policy when Brock was first diagnosed: we told very few people about that money, and for good reason. I know at least one (honest) friend’s first response was envy. I told my friend: “Keep in mind, he had to have stage 4 cancer to get that money. Worth it?” Hell no. (And: we had that insurance policy for a reason. That insurance money will keep us from going bankrupt, not pay for fun stuff like a trip to Europe.)

As I said, this morning Brock and I talked about drawing the line on these kindnesses, feeling overwhelmed by so much charity. But after thinking it through I realized that all these little (or huge) acts of love are being offered because we’re going through something horrific. People want to support us, and they do that with soup and money and surprise holidays. No amount of kind acts will make up for the horrific reality of terminal cancer. I think it makes our friends and family and community feel better to know that, despite this horrible cancer, we’re eating well, paying our bills and spending time together as a family.

Everyone must know that we would trade it all — the money and the holiday and these easy days of forced “retirement” — for a cure. Or even for just a little more time than Brock probably has left.