It’s really hard to hear your mom has cancer. The first time I heard that, I cried. Then I became angry. There was probably even some denial in there. It’s like the stages of grief I learned about in my psychology class in college. Just like that.
The second time I heard that my mom has cancer, I couldn’t get myself to believe it. Are you kidding me?! AGAIN?? The second time was more disbelief, at first. Then I got sad. Really, really sad. My dad told me while my mom was at work, that the tests came back, and the cancer came back, and my denial came back. And we cried right there in the middle of the living room. I cried, and then he started crying, and God you know what I really hate? When my dad cries. I’ve only seen him do it a few times. Once when my grandma died, another when my grandpa died, and then the first time my mom had cancer, and now here we are again. More cancer. More crying.
My mom and I were standing in the kitchen, and I told her I didn’t understand, I don’t want her to have cancer, I don’t want her to die. It’s too soon, and I can’t do this without her. I need my mother! And I started crying again. And she told me, it was nice to see me crying, because I hadn’t cried in front of her about it yet. Truth is, I was trying to be strong around her. But she said it was nice to see me feel something about it. And I told her, I couldn’t STOP feeling something about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And we both cried together, in the kitchen. And it was nice.
Well, my mom retired and my parents moved to their new house and I get to stay in the house I grew up in, with Zack, and we go up to stay with them often (it’s only a 45 minute drive.) And my dad talks about how important it is to be with family right now, and he’s right. And it is. So we are.
And we found out last week the chemo isn’t working. So they’re putting her on another one, this one is oral, meaning she doesn’t have to go in once a week and get hooked up to an I.V. for 3 hours, and she was relieved to hear that. So now I’m crying less, and I’m still a little angry, but I’m praying more. A lot more. My mom says she believes God will heal her. And I believe He will, too. With all my heart. And she’s lost her hair, but it’ll probably grow back now that she’s switched chemo treatments. And she looks so good. My mom is the most beautiful woman. She doesn’t look sick. And she doesn’t let it get her down. Sure, sometimes she’s tired, but who isn’t?! And we’re enjoying life, and more importantly, we’re being together as much as we can.