A good book for a bad day...

On April 22, 2011 my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer for the third time in her life. I was 25 at the time. The time before my mom had cancer I was 16. The first time my mom had cancer I was 7. My family and I have run the cancer race a few times now. Nonetheless, my mom's most recent diagnosis has been by far the hardest one for me.

For years after my mom's second diagnosis I was really scared of her ever getting cancer again. At the same time, I always reasoned with myself that the likelihood of a rediagnosis had to be pretty slim. Who in the world gets diagnosed with cancer three times in one lifetime? When I talked to my dad on the phone last year with news about my mom, I literally reverted back to that 15 almost 16 year old kid who heard that same news years before. I was paralyzed with fear. Unfortunately though, I remember thinking that the fear seemed a lot more suffocating than I ever remembered as a teenager. I felt more responsible. I felt more invested. I felt more real than I did when I was in high school. And I felt a sense of urgency that wasn't present in 2001. As an adult I didn't have the brooding teenager facade to hide behind. I had to handle this situation with a lot more grace and finesse than I ever felt accountable to as a kid. I also had a husband living in the same house as me, which was a whole other weird experience to naviagate.

After the initial shock of my mom's diagnosis, I started to realize that I needed to find some resources to help me deal with the onslaught of emotions that held hostage my everyday existence. I knew that I couldn't just bury my head in the sand. I couldn't listen to my music really loud in hopes that the lyrics would drown out the truth. I couldn't slam doors and constantly tell people I was "ok." I couldn't just write in angst-filled notebooks about the unfairness of this world and wave off the caring few who really wanted to listent to my thoughts. I resolved early on to try to handle this cancer trip with a little more maturity than I had in high school.

One of the lessons I have learned about myself as I have gotten older is that I am inexplicably drawn to tortured people. I am intrigued by others who have fought fights that seem so impossibly unfair. I like to talk to people who have climbed mountains in the darkest of worlds. I take comfort in knowing that someone, somewhere has had it harder than me and survived. Knowing that someone else has walked the same road I am travelling has always served as a light at the end of my long, dark tunnel.

I started researching books about daughters of mothers with cancer. I needed to hear someone else's story. I needed to know I wasn't alone. I determined that there are not a lot of books about women who have had important women in their life fight cancer. One night I did notice that Amazon suggested for me a book entitled The Rules of Inheritance by Claire Bidwell Smith. On a whim, I clicked on the link and read the description of what fulfilled my every longing in a book.

I finished reading The Rules of Inheritance in about two days. It is Smith's memoir about both of her parents being diagnosed with cancer within days of one another. I took extreme solace in the fact that she had it worse than me (I know. It's sick.). Even better, she had it worse than me and had lived to tell about it. She had lived to write about it even. Smith's book tells the story of her parents' diagnosis and death from various perspectives. She recalls her experience as a teenager just learning of her parents' diagnosis, and as an adult years later dealing with the fallout of her parents' battles with cancer. It was relatable. And poignant. And heartbreaking. And candid. And eerily similiar to the way I was feeling. Smith's memory of her teenage self dealing with cancer helped me let my younger self off the hook for some years of confused emotions. It made me wish that 16 year old Katy had read a book about someone else's experience with cancer. It made me appreciate my younger self for crawling through that year from hell with the grit and fight that I still possess today. Smith's memory of her twenty-something self dealing with cancer helped me know that my current thoughts were not as weird and twisted as I worried they were. And it let me feel okay for feeling so alone.

Naturally, the book is sad. And hard to read at points. It is so very real and authentic. It is the most spot-on portrayal of life with a parent with cancer that I have ever come in contact with. I sat and read and drank in Smith's words with a thirst that only a desperate person can possess. I cried and cried and cried. And I loved every single word of it. It was exactly what I needed at the time. When I finished the book, I literally turned to page one and started reading again.

Since finishing The Rules of Inheritance, I have continued reading memoirs about people overcoming insurmountable odds. Claire Bidwell Smith introduced me to a world of people who have survived. She allowed me to move beyond feeling sorry for myself and instead start accepting and even appreciating that this is my story. It cannot be changed or altered, but instead only lived.

I have not lost my mother to cancer. And most days now I don't give a lot of thought to ever losing my mom to cancer. I do feel a little better equipped to handle the loss of anything or anyone who is important to me. I appreciate that a story about someone else's life can be so helpful to a complete stranger. And I kind of want to be Claire Bidwell Smith's BFF. Since I can't really arrange that, I try to keep pressing forward, appreciate the time I have with all of the people in my world, and be willing to share my story with someone who would like to listen. There is truly no greater feat in this world than lightening someone else's load even just a little.

September 11th for Ninth Graders

I teach 14-year-olds. They were 3 when September 11th happened. 3? Seriously? 3? I asked my kid's what they know about that day. I got really vague answers about planes and Saddam Hussein. Then, as is par for the course in my neck of the woods, someone threw in an explanation blaming Barack Obama.

All I could do was shake my head. My kids were shocked that I was only 15 on September 11th. Sometimes teaching is not good for my self-esteem.

On my way home this afternoon, I started thinking about being a sophomore in high school in 2001. The main thing that really struck me as odd was how we were all informed about the happenings of September 11th primarily by a television. Every TV in the school was on throughout that day. No one sat behind a computer to get the most up to the minute updates. No one sat refreshing their Twitter. No one posted statuses on Facebook or photos to Instagram. There was still some small control on the information that reached people. The world I live in today is nothing like the world 11 years ago.

Sometimes I am glad that I am not a kid right now. No doubt I would love to go back and relive some of my time as a teenager. But only if I can go back to my time. When Facebook and Twitter were nonexistent. And you went to the office to use the phone during the day. And you listened to your teacher because there wasn't really anything else to do. When you wrote notes to each other and passed them during passing periods. When people talked behind your back instead of typing behind your back. When your mom ironed your pants because you were supposed to look nice for school. And when we didn't have cars so we had to twelve miles walk to school every morning...I know, I know, I tend to get carried away. It's the truth though.

I think life used to be easier. I realize I am not that old, but even in the time since I've graduated I feel like being alive is harder. People are held accountable every minute of every day because of a cell phone. No one knows how to be bored anymore because of the computers we carry around in our pockets. You can't get in a car and drive knowing that the answering machine will record any messages you might have. There's no escape from life anymore for Generation Z kids. They are constantly on-call and that is a crazy thing. We are creating a weird breed of people. And I either fortunately or unfortunately have a very small role in their development.

Sometimes I tell myself that if I ever have a child, I am going to work really hard to limit their exposure to technology. And then I realize it must be a losing battle. And then I take my birth control pill and go to bed. I'm just not there yet.