“Boys, sit down I want to talk to you.” My mom was about to tell us something that would turn our lives upside down.
“I found out today that I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer called carcinoid. It’s what the doctor calls stage four… which means it’s pretty dangerous to have. I’m thankful though, because it’s one of the least aggressive types of cancer.”
I was in shock.
I knew it was bad but I had no clue how bad. She explained that she would have to have surgery to remove a large part of her small intestine.
“Mom, I’m scared,” I said. I had always seen my mother as an unmovable object; a thing I could anchor myself to when I’d get scared.
Now, seeing her so frightened and trying to hold it together in front of my brother and me, it felt as though my legs disappeared from under my body.
Everyone in my family told me not to worry. “she’ll be okay,” “your mother’s a fighter,” “don’t worry about it buddy, it could be a lot worse.”
The day of her surgery I was numb.
She went in with her head held high and whether it was some divine suggestion or simply the ignorance of being so young, I wasn’t worried. I just felt numb.
When I saw her next, she was lying in a hospital bed sound asleep.
The surgery was a success, and she was discharged a few days later. Regardless of how bad she felt, she would always prioritize my brother and me which allowed me to understand what true, unconditional love is.
I now know that when she was first diagnosed, she didn’t believe she would live much longer and the only thing she focused on in that time was us.
I now use her character and grace under pressure as a template for my own life and when a shocking event happens in the future, I’ll have a multitude of material to refer to on how to deal with it in a dignified manner.
Thank you, mom, I aspire to be like you and have the character that you possess.