The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 (ESV)
My son and I stood in my mother’s entranceway. It was getting dark at the end of a long, emotional day. Mom stood by the door, giving us an unspoken signal that she was ready for us to leave. If this had been any other day, I would have given her a quick hug, said goodbye, and been on my way. But today I gave her a bear hug. I clung to her slight frame, and I just didn’t want to let go. I blinked, hoping she didn’t notice the tears in my eyes as I released my embrace and stepped back. I stood there staring at this beautiful woman who had given birth to me and raised me. Did she really have a terminal diagnosis? We stood in silence. My feet were firmly planted on the ground, and I didn’t even glance at the door. I felt the quiet support of my son beside me.
The events of the day weighed heavily on my heart and in my mind. How could everything change so quickly? My mother was the same soft-spoken, energetic eighty-nine-year-old she had been the day before. How could so much change in a day?
After her eye appointment on Wednesday, we left a message for the oncologist’s office based on the results of an MRI her eye doctor had ordered. I knew it was serious when the receptionist called and gave us an appointment only two days out, but I was not prepared for what the doctor would say. Dr. DeAngelo*, a young doctor who had followed my mother since her initial breast cancer diagnosis thirteen years earlier, a doctor who my mother thoroughly trusted, placed her hand on my mother’s, looked straight in her eyes, and said, “Your metastasized breast cancer has manifested itself in the lining of your brain. There are no good treatments for this. The only thing I can do is give you a steroid to keep the swelling down.” She handed us a box of tissues and went on to list all the possible symptoms to expect, including paralysis, a stroke, or sudden death.
As she turned to leave, I asked her if I should bump my mother’s birthday celebration up from July to Thanksgiving. “I doubt she will make it that long,” she said as she left the room. Not make it that long? That was only three months away!
I turned to my mother as I was driving her home and said, “I was planning to take you out for dinner. Do you still want to go?”
“No,” she said as she turned away from me and looked out her window. “Let’s go home.”
After sharing a moment of hugs and tears, I settled my mother into her recliner and heated up leftovers for her, then I rushed to make some calls before the end of the business day. I scheduled an appointment first thing Monday morning with the director at the independent living community where my mother lived. My mother was worried she might have to move because of her diagnosis. I also scheduled appointments on Monday with her primary care physician and a hearing aid specialist.
Then I sat down at my mother’s computer to compose an email to my brother and three sisters. Instead, I picked up the phone and made the first of many calls. As soon as my son heard the news, he came right over. He involved my mother in a genealogy project on his computer in the other room while I called my siblings and my other three children. By the time I had shared the news over and over again, I was emotionally spent, and it was getting late. I went into the other room and told my mother I had finished making the calls.
“Thank you, Nancy,” she said, then she turned to her grandson. “Thank you, Paul; we will pick up with this project another time.”
Paul packed up his computer and joined me at the entranceway.
Now I stood awkwardly staring at my mother. “Mom, I just don’t want to leave you,” I blurted out, breaking the silence. A tear slipped down my cheek. My son put his hand on my shoulder.
“Well, Nancy, I’m just the same as I was yesterday, except now I will wake up every morning and thank God for a new day.” Mom looked so calm and at peace, the opposite of how I felt. She made it sound so easy. That somehow, despite her horrific diagnosis, simply thanking God every day was going to make everything okay. My mind was churning with tumultuous thoughts, but her words gave me the encouragement I needed to walk out the door and drive home.
Wake up and thank God for a new day. I didn’t know at the time how that one statement would become my mother’s mantra for the rest of her days, or how those words would give hope to my siblings and me in the weeks and months ahead.
*Name has been changed.
Other stories in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month:
How to Support Your Friend with Breast Cancer
Hope Through Genetic Testing: Emily's Breast Cancer Story
Katie Johnson: Teenage Caregiver