Dear Cuties,
You’ve probably started to read though my letters about this season of life that I’m currently in, and I can’t imagine how you are feeling. I have done my best to be open and honest about how things have unfolded, as well as to share the ways I felt God’s presence along the way. I already shared my two big moments with you where I felt God’s presence and love, but here are a few more memories that lifted my spirits and made my heart full during this season. I hope these are a balm on your hearts, as they have been on mine.
- Talking to my aunts after my diagnosis. They were some of the first people I thought of once the initial feelings calmed down. I did my best to channel their beautiful, positive energies, giving myself the pep talk I needed to keep moving forward. I often think of them when I’m faced with a challenge. I waited a few weeks to tell my extended family the news as we wanted to have a full picture of what we were dealing with and a decided treatment plan (short of that, even the most well meaning conversations turn into treatment consults, so having a firm plan was important to me). When it was finally time to share, the calls came in and I found my heart and spirits lifted in hearing their voices, receiving their love and blessings, and sharing my testimonies.
- The morning of my port placement, your Dad dropped me off in the parking lot at 6 AM so he could get back home to help Schuyler manage breakfast and the morning routine for all the littles, so a quick teary kiss was all we could manage before he had to go. My surgery wasn’t scheduled until later, so I advised Grandma Blanca not to show up until 11 or so. Grandma, being Grandma, showed up not 10 minutes after me, and spent all morning by my side as I got prepped for surgery. I was so delighted and thankful for her presence. When the surgeon explained that the last minute biopsy they were adding on to the surgery would involve removing a bit of nipple tissue, she was there to dry my tears. It was hard not to feel like I was losing myself in bits and pieces, but she was there to steady me. After the surgery we picked up lunch from Cava, picked up a few groceries and even went shopping (the pain meds were doing there thing, so I was fine). She got me home, tucked me in, and took care of you kids until dad got home. It reminded me of how it felt to be nurtured by her in my childhood, and is something I won’t soon forget.
- Shortly after my port placement, I was scheduled for additional scans to rule out cancer in the rest of my body as we planned out my treatment plan. Grandma Blanca drove me to the imaging facility so that Dad could stay home with you all, and Papa Mark surprised us by showing up to the appointment. We chatted all together for a few minutes before they called me to the back. As the tech struggled to access my veins, poking me several times in both arms before getting the IV in, all I could do was smile thinking of my parents waiting for me back in the waiting room. I had been poked and prodded dozens of times that week; my incision hurt and my arms were sore, but it couldn’t lessen the joy in my heart over how thankful I felt to have not 1, but 2 parents able and willing to be there for support. I had to wait in a dark room alone for an hour for the contrast they injected to circulate though my body, and spent that time praying and reflecting on all the riches in my life; a healthy family, a happy marriage, and so so many people ready and willing to help. After the scans were done, we all agreed to go out to lunch together (one of my favorite restaurants from childhood, Golden Wok no less!), and I felt like it healed some small part of my inner child. My parents are of course both happily re-married; this joy wasn’t about any fantasies of them reconciling their love; it was rather the peace and thankfulness for their love coming together to be by my side together. Sure, it was a tiny bit awkward at first, but nothing their quick wits couldn’t joke away. We ate and laughed and even took a photo to capture the moment. I experienced the communal love of my parents that I hadn’t felt in years, and it was such an unexpected and beautiful gift.
- A few days later, the results came in on the scans. It was a dreary, chilly day, and I got an email alert that the results were viewable in my patient portal while driving to yet another appointment. I did my best to fight off what felt like the beginnings of a mild anxiety attack while driving, praying for comfort and to feel God’s presence, but it felt like my prayers couldn’t cut through the thick clouds; for the first time since my diagnosis I struggled to feel close to God. I called my mom, as I knew she’d help me stay grounded until I could park safely. Once I arrived at the facility, I broke down on the phone with her, giving voice to all the doubts, fears and worries that had been weighing on my heart. I was terrified that the scans would show metastases, placing my cancer in stage 4, and drastically changing my treatment plan, outcomes, and life. I had other health complaints that I had been ignoring for months and even years, and I was almost convinced that they might have been the quiet pangs of cancer that I recognized now, far too late. I felt weak and broken and full of regret; how did I get here? Why couldn’t I have paid closer attention to my body? How did I miss all the signs, and what else have I missed? How would we get through this? How would I survive this? How would this affect my children, my husband? What if I don’t make it?? My beautiful strong amazing mother gave me the space to unload all the worries of my heart, then firmly reassured me of my strength, my resilience, and my faith. She persuaded me to wait to open the results until later that evening when Bryant could be by my side, and arranged to pick up the kids so we could have a quiet place to go over the results. I don’t know how long I would have sat in that parking lot if it wasn’t for her, but somehow she got me to pull myself back up by my bootstraps and head into my appointment. Funny thing; I wrote down the appointment time fresh out of surgery and got the date wrong; I was there a full week early, so ended up leaving just a few minutes later. Instead of heading home, I felt led to go to my church, hoping they might have their chapel open. My heart was still so heavy, it felt like the right place to be as I waited for the day to pass. I was still feeling far too much for me to carry on my own, I knew I needed to bring this to God. At church, I was greeted by the staff and taken to the main church, where I prayed, and cried, and prayed some more, until I eventually felt my emotions settle. I know this all reads so heavy, but here is where the silver lining comes in. As I left the church, I was greeted by the sun peeking through the clouds, shining beautiful rays of golden light down over us. It felt like a small gift from God, reminding me of his presence, and adding some much needed light and warmth to this dark and heavy day. I felt my spirits rise and decided to enjoy this gift by taking a short walk at the park across from the church, shifting to prayers of gratitude. I had just entered the park when a voice called out from behind me; a woman about my age had followed me from the church and asked to introduce herself. Her name was Nancy, and she worked at the church. She explained that she saw me enter earlier and felt called to follow, and wondered if I might be interested in a grief support event they were offering for the holidays. I thanked her and explained my situation. We hugged and prayed, talked and made plans to meet again soon. Yet another wonderful gift of friendship and support, another opportunity from the God who whispers and sends sunshine and sermons through the static. Later that night, your dad and I opened the results to find no signs of metastatic disease; there were happy tears and tight hugs and store-bought sushi to celebrate. It was a hard, heavy, but good day.
Life with you all continued as normally as possible with all this happening in the background; making every smile and hug and kiss and cuddle a silver lining during this tempestuous time. Here are a few more memories that stand out in my mind;
Beautiful evenings at the playground
Halloween trick or treating
Saturday Mornings at the Farmers Market
Ice Skating with the family and watching Grandma Blanca brave ice skates for the first time in decades
Movie Nights in the Living Room
Field Trips and Lunch Dates
Breakfasts with Papa Mark & Uncle Nathan
Schuyler’s Jazz Shows
Zoom calls with my closest friend, Sara
Decorating the Christmas Tree
Kind Nurses and Caring Providers
Church on Sundays
Quiet recovery days with Dad
Regular Check-ins and Long talks with Loved Ones
New Faces and Old Friends
Holidays festivities with our Families
There is so much goodness still happening, so many blessings to recognize and focus on during this harder season that keep me going. My heart is full from it, and it keeps me happy and hopeful and prayerful, which is what I think this season may be all about. I’m so happy to have so much to turn to and reflect on and lean towards during these days. I just want you to know, you give me strength daily, and I love you all so much. Thank you for all the silver linings. May the list go on and on.
Sincerely,
Mom