a reflection

This story has been on my mind since I found out we're having a family counsel Sunday (today) afternoon. I wrote this for the Central Utah Writing Project I went to at the beginning of the summer and it was the first time I'd been able to get down this moment in time on paper. Not knowing what tomorrow's family meeting will hold, I share this as catharsis for my soul.

The Edict

Adrienne van Komen

Reading “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros, I identified with the statement, “And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you’ll need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay.” This is the moment I needed my three year old self.

 “Family meeting Sunday at 4.”

That’s all it said, the text message from Mom that warm, perfect October Saturday afternoon. No indication for why. No indication for what. No indication of anything, really. Just a family meeting Sunday at four. The disturbing part of this text is quite simple: my family doesn’t do family meetings. The last family meeting was five years ago with Mom and Dad announcing they were moving to Utah. The family meeting before that happened twelve years ago when they announced Mom was pregnant. Apparently, family meetings are not exactly our “thing” and also can bring bad or good news, thus, my text back to her was something along the lines of “Is this good or bad?”

She wrote back, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Alrighty  then.

Going out of my mind with curiosity, I sent text messages to my five siblings with phones and no one knew what was going on, but we all made arrangements to be in contact at the prescribed time. The three kids at home were supposed to be en casa, the Florida sisters had instructions to Skype in or call, the other two of us decided to drive up to the parent’s house.

The following day at the prearranged time, my parents sat at one end of the dining room table as they methodically set up the computer with Skype for one sister and set the phone on speaker for my other sister, while the other five of us (plus our sister-in-law and baby niece) gathered around their feet on the floor.

Dad looked around at all of us, tears welling in his eyes. When his gaze reached Mom, the tears slid down his cheeks, causing Mom to silently weep as well. They sat there, the two of them, for a long moment, staring at each other, tears hitting the table in rapid succession, as if gearing up for the saddest conversation of their lives. The rest of us glanced bewilderedly at them and at each other, searching for some sort of reason for the sudden, unexpected burst of emotion from our usually fairly stoic parents.

Finally, after taking his grandbaby and pulling her tight into his chest, Dad spoke.

“We are really glad you are all here one way or another. As some of you know, Mom has been going to the doctor a lot recently. She was having some pain and when she went in, they ran some tests and discovered that she …” he broke off, hugged Brisa more tightly, looked at Mom staring at the table, and pronounced the words that rocked the universe, “Mom has cancer.”

Cancer.

Cancer.

The word hung in the silent air.

We all looked at Dad, then at Mom, then at each other and then looking at each other was unbearable. We pulled into ourselves, finding comfort in the light grey tendrils of the carpet.

Cancer.

The word hovered in the subdued atmosphere.

 I sat on the floor unable to think of anything and unable to look at my parents. Sniffling brought my eyes up and I saw my teenage sisters sitting cross-legged facing me, alternating between staring at the floor and looking up at Mom. What would it be like to be 16 or 18 and live with a mother with cancer? What about Homecoming dress shopping and the boys that need to be met and Prom dinners that need to be made and choir concerts that need attending?

Above them my brother and his wife, college students with a 6 month old, hugged each other as my brother wiped away his tears. What about his the weekly phone calls needing recipes for things like key lime pie and cures for baby colic and ideas for what to get his wife for Mother’s Day?

In the computer on the table I saw my pregnant sister holding her 19 month old little boy, dropping tears into his short blond hair as her husband wrapped his arms around his family. Her baby is due in three short weeks, who will give her sage motherly advice when she has two little kids two and under?

My sister on the phone, while not visible, was very much a presence in the room, her sobs echoing in the quiet of the house. Who will she call with her good news moments from college and the questions about her boyfriend and what to do with her future?

Feeling someone shift next to me, I looked at my twelve year old brother, suddenly wondering what his teenage years will be like with an incredibly ill mother. Who will make tin-foil dinners before Scout camp-outs and iron his Sunday shirt and make sure his socks match before he leaves for school?

Then there’s Dad. Who will make chocolate chip cookies and write sweet notes on the napkin in his lunch? Who will make sure the kids do their chores so he isn’t running after the garbage man in his pajamas Friday mornings? Who will go with him to Home Depot so he can talk out the differences between weed killers?

As everyone else’s life changes collide in my head like bumper cars, I suddenly feel selfish. What about me? Who will go for five mile walks with me at 6:30am during the summer? Where will I find the perfect listening ear when work and life and everything get hard? Who will be my mom?

Once she regains some composure, Mom begins telling us about the tests she’d been through and the doctors she’d seen in the last week and the doctors she’d see in the coming weeks and the surgery she was to have in a mere fourteen days. As she speaks using unfamiliar words like platelets, metastasis, sarcoma, nothing makes sense.  Nothing seems right in the world. Nothing seems to matter now other than our Mom, my Mom, has cancer.

In the days and months following this earth shattering announcement, conversations I might have had at lunch with colleagues lost all appeal. Who wins on “The Biggest Loser”? Not worth even wondering about. Who plays in the Super Bowl? Who cares? What is the top selling toy at Christmas? You’re really going to ask me that? I would rather wonder about how to spend quality time with Mom and my family. How are we going to create lasting family relationships when her quality of life has tumbled? What do we need to do now to preserve our memories of her in case her time with us is shorter than we would like to imagine? I found myself taking sick days to be at the hospital after her surgery. I used all my family sick days going to chemotherapy and Doctor’s appointments once she came home. And still, every prayer everyday focuses on her.

It’s unfortunate that unlike other problems, there is no clear cure for the issue of cancer. With bugs you get a bug spray and you take care of them. With termites you find them, you eradicate them, you replace the wood, and you move on. Cancer doesn’t work this way. Cancer will affect Mom’s ability to be Mom. Cancer might take her away since there are no guarantees that treatment will even work.

Cancer.

Cancer is in every thought Cancer is behind every thought. Cancer is always present in every moment of everyday. Cancer is taking over our lives and there's no going back.