One summer when I was about 14 years old, part of Fort Chaffee caught on fire. It was mid-July, 100 degrees, and we hadn't had any rain in weeks. My parents' house is very close to Fort Chaffee. I remember frantically running around dousing our back yard with a water hose. The news channels were updating us on the progress of the fire. I remember smelling the smoke, hearing an occasional crack of fire. As the flames continued to approach our house, my mom finally gave in and instructed my brother and me to help her grab the most valuable things from our home and store them in our Suburban in preparation for a speedy escape. I remember running into my home and quickly evaluating what in that house that I had to save. My mother grabbed family pictures, important documents, and other stuff like that. I don't think my brother grabbed anything because he was never one for directions. I understood the seriousness, though. I wasn't that old, but I remember understanding the significance of your life being altered in one smoldering afternoon. That day I walked out of my house holding only a few things. I salvaged my MVP plaque from the softball Little League World Series that my team, the Whiskers, had won a couple of summers before. I grabbed my diary mainly because I had recently read The Diary of Anne Frank and dreamed of being so famous one day. And I grabbed a few pictures because those were the things my mother saved, so I figured I would follow suit. In the end, the fire never jumped the highway that acted as the fortress around my neighborhood. The cops stopped driving up and down our street with their megaphones booming a warning of evacuation. We unloaded our Suburban. My brother scoffed at our unwarranted fear. And we went back to the way things were before Fort Chaffee caught on fire.
In the past couple of weeks, I have found myself in a different type of fire. My entire life has been engulfed by a looming force that my family has not been able to define quite yet. My mom has been diagnosed with cancer...again. Those of you who have known me for some time are probably aware that this is round three of the cancer fight for my mother. We are not positive of all of the details, but we know that regardless of the whereabouts or size of the flame, it's coming. We learned about the diagnosis on Good Friday (the irony, right?). We have spent the past days running tests and concocting some sort of game plan. We are dousing our yard with water hoses. Gathering our most treasured possessions. And preparing for the arrival of the catastrophe that is cancer.
I went back and forth on whether or not to blog about this. I recognize that the news of my mother's diagnosis will eventually spread. We are asking for prayers and thoughts from whomever is willing to give them. I just know that my mom gets so exhausted by the incessant questions, the pitiful looks, the defeated greetings from people who learn of this news. At the same time, I know that this is part of our story now. This time in our lives will be notable for not just my mom but for our entire family. I know that Good Friday is one of those days that will stand out as a bridge between the way my life was before my mother was diagnosed and after she was diagnosed.
I have done this three times now. I have sifted through the debris that remains after a loved one is diagnosed with a serious illness. Each time cancer has come and gone from our lives, I have thought to myself that at least the next time I will be better prepared. I will know what to expect. I will be more emotionally stable. As a 24 year old I assumed I would handle this situation with more grace and rational thinking than I did as a 16 year old. I think now I am wrong. Each time the fire approaches our home, I get a little more nervous. I worry a little more. I want to protect my belongings better than the last time. My family is working together to rally the troops. We are going to find all the water in this world to fight for my mom. We will build walls, gather supplies, make game plans, and attack the flames if need be. One thing that I have learned from fighting this fight twice before is that if there is a worthy opponent against cancer, it is my mother. I have all the faith in the world in her endurance, persistence, and faith that is necessary to fight for a day when the flames are left as nothing more than a smoky shadow in the distance.
I don't want to answer questions. I don't need your help. I have a support system around me and my family that will carry us through whatever comes of this experience. I do need your thoughts and prayers, however. I will accept them freely and openly. And most importantly, so will my mom.
I don't know when exactly the flames will die out. I don't know how long we will fight. I do know that I have faith in a power that is bigger than any fire in this world. I know that the same force that extinguished the flames on that hot day in July will protect our most treasured possessions this time around as well. Again, thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated.
