Booming laughter was spilling out into the hallway, a smorgasbord of hoagies, cookies, and snacks were laid out on a rolling cart that doubled as a dining room table and a storage unit for tissues, latex gloves, and tubing, and old pictures were being passed around the otherwise cold and stark room. Nurses would come and go, finding amusement (and despair) at the constant social hour that was occurring in the room--us knowing that we were, by far, the type of nutty family nurses did not want to have to deal with after a 12-hour shift.
At this point, we had made a home of the shoebox-sized hospital room after a grueling 10 days of spending hours upon hours sitting in the same faux leather seats, eating the same food, and reading the same magazines. There we were, simply trying to get by while still keeping as much of a positive spirit and normal life as possible.
Even now, as I type the word, "normal," I cannot help but laugh.
My mom was fighting her last few days with cancer, and our "normal" was very quickly changing.
Almost eight years before, my mom had gotten her initial cancer diagnosis. Aggressive and rare, thyroid cancer would ultimately claim my mom's life--however, that is not at all the purpose of this story.
My mom gained her place in heaven after nearly eight years of kicking, screaming, and throwing cancer to the curb. And that is what this story is about.
She defeated the odds, she never stopped smiling, and she never, never lost faith. Faith in herself, faith in her doctors, faith in her family, and faith in her church. My mom never complained, she never let others feel sorry for her, and she never let cancer get the best of her.
Those last moments sitting in the hospital with my mom showed me, my family, and my mom's countless friends that cancer cannot consume courage and love.
We were by far the loudest family on the floor. We sat there singing goofy songs, sharing stories of joy, and we made sure the entire room was filled with love at all times. Did we want to mope and lay in bed with our heads down? Sure. But my mom--my mom wanted a party. She wanted dancing and singing and lots of laughs. She wanted bright colors and flowers and pictures everywhere. My mom knew she had lived a life worth celebrating.
Now, believe me, there were many tears. There were many emotions flying. But each time we wanted to scream and yell, "this isn't fair!" we heard my mom's voice in the back of our minds telling us to be quiet and buck up.
See, my mom never let cancer beat her, even in her last days. Whether it was making friends with the nurses, touching her doctors in ways even they hadn't thought possible, or asking strangers on the street to pray for her, my mom was constantly sharing her positive attitude with others. She was always asking about others and worrying about others, even when she, herself was in such bad shape. My mom, in the eight years she was fighting, continuously made a positive impact on the lives of many.
Ever since my mom passed, I have been struggling to come to terms with life without her. However, what I do know is that my mom's battle contains a beautiful lesson for all those going through adversity. My mom's life shows that cancer, the horrible beast that it is, cannot conquer love or happiness. Cancer cannot beat anyone unless given permission. Cancer can never overcome courage.
Our "normal" will never be the same because our lives have forever been changed by my mom's fighting spirit, selflessness, and love.
No matter what adversity you may be facing, always remember that you can conquer all.
