In high school, I used to wonder if something was wrong in my life, simply because I never went through any huge life crisis. I distinctly remember feeling like I wouldn’t have a “good” topic to write about for my college application essays, because I couldn’t produce a tear-jerking, emotion-filled, life-sculpting story. No, I wasn’t envious of people writing about their deceased parents, or even their own bad habits, but I genuinely felt as though I was somehow invincible. I dodged every bullet in my high school life. I developed into who I was because of the positive experiences I went through.
However, during the summer of 2015, my mom was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer. There it was. That pivotal, life-changing moment. The bullet I thought I dodged.
Without getting into the logistics of her diagnosis and treatment, I’ll just say that it would be, and still is, a yearlong process that breaks you down physically, mentally, and emotionally. My mom was suffering, and so was the rest of my family (except on an obviously incomparable scale). My mom is the strongest person I know, and watching her grow weak was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure.
Going back to school as a sophomore three months into my mom’s treatment was far less than desirable. During my entire first semester, I remember feeling guilty for enjoying time at school with friends, because I knew my mom was at home feeling miserable. I had constant thoughts in the back of my mind: Is she OK? Is the chemo kicking in? Has she set up a date for her surgery? I hope she isn’t too lonely… Of course, I’d always be home as soon as possible to rest these thoughts, but it was hard not to let it get in the way of my academics. Having to pick, choose, and remember which professors I opened up to was tricky. Thankfully, I’d be taking some classes with familiar professors that I could share with, but there were also new ones I feared opening up to.
I took a couple of mental health days. I needed them. There were times I’d think of attaching a picture of my mom’s bald head to an email explaining my absence in lieu of a “doctor’s note,” but I’d never have the guts to face the professor’s questions following my next class attendance. I’d just take the unexcused instead.
After her surgery, life started lightening up. They’d gotten the cancer out, and we had some time to enjoy before starting rounds of radiation, which, we’d soon find out, would leave second-degree burns over her entire chest. As bad as it looked, my mom took it like a champ, just like the rest of this grueling process.
Today, my mom is better. Today, I am stronger.
Throughout this entire experience I’ve grown. I watched my mom, my best friend, be so broken down, but rise up and face (and win) the battle life handed her. I’ve come to realize that opening up and being vulnerable is OK. I’ve learned that unexcused absences mean nothing as long as you took them for the right reason. And I’ve learned that high school isn’t the only place you can grow. You will grow forever, unexpectedly. But you will grow.
