My mom was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer (for the third time) on April 22, 2011. I didn't know it at the time, but after the dust of doctor visits, specialists, biopsies, and treatment plans settled, I was left with a sixty-something-year-old mother with a cautiously optimistic outlook on the future but a terminal cancer diagnosis nonetheless. My mom is a cancer patient and she will be for the rest of her life. It has taken me the better part of the past three years to understand what that really feels like on a daily basis.
My mom's diagnosis was the impetus for me trying to get pregnant around two years ago. I told myself that I could out run cancer. I could get ahead of the situation. I could get pregnant and give birth and allow my mom some years enjoying her grandchild before cancer took anything more from her and me. I wanted to have a child for her more so than me. Today, I recognize the flaw in that plan.
In my experience, the word "mother" exists alongside the word "cancer" - an unavoidable reality of a parent living with the disease. However, my mom has defined her role in my life as so much more than a survivor of cancer. There are a slew of monikers that my mom embodies, many of which she has earned through her unflinching acceptance and strength to fight back against cancer.
Mother's Day is a good day. I'm not focused on my struggle to become one. I'm not focused on my mom's health. I'm focused on my mom and my place in the world as her daughter. I'm focused on all of the good that swirls around both of us. I'm focused on the person I am today because I have had the privilege to be my mom's daughter for twenty-seven years. I'm focused on the ridiculously awesome parent I will be one day simply because of who my own mom is. I'm focused on right now because it does no one any good to try to figure out anything else.
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