The Cancer

It wasn't talked about. Not really. At least I don't really remember it much as having been discussed.

Mom had cancer. That was it. She had cancer and then she was going to get operated on and that would be that. There was never any talk about what if she didn't make it. I seem to recall there wasn't any talk whatsoever.

"She walked into the bowling alley," my Aunt Hannah told me. "She got us (Cass and me) together and just told us. 'I just wanted you to know I have cancer.' Just like that." Aunt Han chokes up at this point and tells me that my mom had told her so matter-of-factly, like it was no big thing. My mom didn't want anyone to make a big thing out of it; like there was no question whether she would make it or not. Of course, my aunts were in complete shock and very upset.

"She was so strong," Aunt Han said. "She was like that in everything, you know. She never wanted anyone to know that it was hard for her."

When mom underwent the surgery to have it removed, we were all there; my three sisters and my dad and I. We waited. Dad was up and down, going for coffee or to talk to the doctors. He didn't say much; but then that's what I remember most about him growing up. Not much said, at least not on a personal, emotional level. Still, he was there looking concerned but not scared.

I think that helped.

Debbie was all stern and concerned. She knitted or read or something very matron-like. I think. She was always the "mom-in-training" type of person. She was the responsible one. I do recall her having fun when we were growing up, but then something changed and she didn't have fun anymore.

This left Barbara, Diane and I to our own devices, with lots of "don't do that" looks from Debbie. I think that our own devices were probably not a good idea. Someone, I think Barbara, hid in a linen closet and jumped out when she thought it was Diane or I walking past. But it was a nurse.

We were quite silly. But most people in the hospital left us to cope with what we were going through.

Only, I'm not sure we were going through what they thought we were going through. I mean, I can't speak for my dad or sisters, but I was just basically killing time because I was just waiting for mom to come out of surgery and make sure she was feeling okay. I didn't even pray for her to make it. It was just assumed on my part that she would.

That surgery left her life drastically altered. She'd had colo-rectal cancer and the operation left her with a complete colostomy. Her colon and rectum were removed; a tube and bag left in their place. Simple things to us, like just going to the bathroom, were now much more complicated for her. But she never once let on. Maybe to dad, or even Debbie, but not to very many other people. She never let it stop her from doing all the things she always did. She skied, bowled, traveled. She went to parties, baked cakes. Some people even told me that they never knew she'd had the cancer or surgery at all.

When they let us go in and see her, she was all smiles, albeit weak ones. And she said it didn't hurt much, that she was going to be okay. And I went away secure in the knowledge that she was going to be fine. That mom, who was a solid foundation in my life, would go on being mom. Not that I really doubted it.

Which is why it took me as a surprise emotionally when she did pass. I understood on an intellectual level that she was sick. I knew that her disease was terminal, no cures. But it was just unfathomable on an emotional level that she would be gone. She did so much, survived so much, beat so many odds. It wasn't until weeks later that I broke down and cried.