Finding Unity in Devestation My lungs grew tense, my veins froze, and a lump materialized in my throat as I began to contemplate what the future would hold for my mom. It had been one week since the tests were taken, and the knowledge that my mom’s fate was in the hands of unfamiliar doctors and test tubes was one of the most unnerving thoughts ever. Thanksgiving, a holiday which is typically one of the happiest times of the year, filled with love and family, felt solemn and uneasy. In class, the words the teachers spoke went right over my head, and instead I stared straight ahead with an expressionless face. I was bracing myself for the inevitable truth that I knew was coming. Part of me wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay. I was worrying for no reason. But my life was not a fairytale, and it never had been. I could not face the torture of getting my hopes up, so instead, I prepared myself for the worst. My family tried to act as if everything was okay on Thanksgiving Day but we all knew that was a facade. My parents put on happy faces and continued our yearly traditions, but as we iced the gingerbread house, no one could find the words to say. We were terrified.
My mom had led a particularly healthy lifestyle for as long as I could remember. She cooked nutritious meals for the family and stayed active doing things she loved, including: biking, gardening, and walking the dog. In the spring of 2011, my mom’s sister, Lisa, was diagnosed with breast cancer. Due to our previously spotless family history, it came as a wake-up call for us all. A few days after Lisa had surgery, my mom flew down to her home town of Toledo to visit her sister. At the time, my mom was focused on one thing: to help my aunt get better. Little did she know that in just a few short months, she would be going through the exact same thing. After a night of tossing and turning and hardly any sleep, I awoke the morning after Thanksgiving more anxious than I had ever been. The doctor’s office had said that they would call us as soon as they got the results back on Friday or Monday. My high school football team made it to the State Final Championship and would be playing against Wayzata that night. My family convinced me to go to the game to get my mind off of things at home. I got dressed in my best Eden Prairie Eagle gear and came downstairs, ready to be picked up by a friend. I walked into the kitchen to see my mom on the phone. I remember her saying, “So you have the results?” followed by a long pause. Frustration spread itself across my mom’s face and then she started to speak again “You’re not authorized? The doctor told me that he would call me as soon as he got the results. I deserve to know.” After a brief pause my mom said, “thank you,” and slowly put the phone down. Without having to ask, my mom started to explain that they have the results. That particular nurse was not authorized to give any information, however, she was going to find someone who was authorized and they would call us back. Tears began to sting my eyes as my whole family sat at the kitchen table, and I thought through every possible scenario of what the next five minutes could hold. After what felt like five years, the phone rang again, shattering the uneasy silence. Somewhere on the other end of the line was a nervous doctor about to break some very important news to another Doctor’s patient. Later I learned that the exact words the doctor used were, “I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this, especially since I don’t know you, but the results are positive. You have breast cancer.” I studied my mom’s face for some hint as to what was going on but I was given no such clues. She smiled softy, and muttered to the doctor that she really appreciated it and then hung up the phone.
It felt as though my heart was going to explode. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. It’s hard to remember the exact emotions I was feeling at that time but it was somewhere in-between fear, hope and heartbreak. After a deep breath and a long pause, my mom looked up and said, “The results came back positive.” The very tears that just two minutes prior were sitting on the edges of my eyes were now streaming down my face into puddles on the kitchen table. It was hard to breathe. My chest hurt. My dad and brother tried to stay strong, but when something this huge hits you it is hard to maintain a happy face. Pain was written all over theirs. My mom came in for a hug and I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing, with make up running down my face, staining her shirt. There was nothing anyone could say that would make me feel better. I remember thinking to myself, why us? What has my family done to deserve this? What has my mom done to deserve this? The thought that I might not have much longer with my mom made me cry harder. Like all moms do, she promised us that she would fight this.
Although it was next to impossible, I put faith in my mom’s claim that everything would be okay and held her hand every step of the way. One night, as I was scrolling through Pinterest as usual, I came across a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson that resonated with my situation and me perfectly. “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small measures compared to what lies within us.” I shared this quote with my mom and she started crying; it was just the motivation she needed. This quote helped me get through just about every inch of this mile long journey. I discovered that you may not be able to predict the future, and that it doesn’t matter what happened in the past, the only thing that matters is how you feel inside. I realized that it did no good to think about what may come later down the road, so instead, I enjoyed every moment I could with my mom. Whether that was playing board games, driving her to her doctors’ appointments, watching movies, or just sitting in silence, I quickly realized how grateful I was to have such a strong woman in my life.
That Christmas, my mom underwent a double mastectomy and began her long journey to recovery. It was so inspiring to see all of the support from friends, family, and even from those who we didn’t even know. Anyone and everyone wanted to do anything they could to help. On Mothers Day of 2012, just five months after my mom’s surgery, my family participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It was one of the most enriching and rewarding experiences ever. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Participants included people who had breast cancer, people who had lost family members to breast cancer, and people who just wanted to support the cause. Around every corner were tears, laughter, and memories in the making. If you have never done a 5k with thousands of your best friends all decked out in your best hot pink gear, I would highly recommend it. While it was very fun, it was also very emotional. This was the first time that my mom was surrounded by survivors and thousands of other people who knew how she felt. She told me that she didn’t feel like the center of attention and that it was inspiring to be with so many other people who were there for the same thing: to put an end to breast cancer.
Today, my mom is healthy, happy, and enjoying life day by day. As I reflect back on this entire experience, it has made me realize one thing: never take absolutely any moment for granted. As cliché as that may sound, it could not more true. I have learned that all of the stupid, little arguments mean nothing. I learned to tell my family I loved them whenever I got the chance. I learned that I would not trade the dorky movie nights in with the family for anything in the world. But most importantly, I learned that I am so incredibly grateful to have my family by my side for everything. Because of this long journey, my relationship with my mom is better than ever. I am so grateful to have her here with me today and I pray that others can realize all of the things I have learned without having to go through such an exhausting and unpredictable experience.