Sitting down to write this article is not easy. Nothing about cancer is easy. But I know that there are so many other people out there who know exactly how I feel, so I guess that's comforting.
March 2, 2001, was the worst day of my life. Although I didn't know that it was at the time, I was just living out my day. My brother and I came home from school, and my parents were preparing to go see the doctor. They had told us that Mom wasn't feeling too hot and that she had made this doctor's appointment to see what the problem could be. Neither my brother nor I knew how serious my mom's condition was. A few hours later, my parents walked through the back door with melancholy faces stained red from tears. My mom then told my brother and I that she had been diagnosed with stage three colorectal cancer.
I swear time stopped. My heart sank to the lowest pits of my stomach and eyes swelled with tears. I still remember that moment so vividly. My mom was standing at one end of the kitchen table in between the archway to our living room and the kitchen; her voice cracked when she spoke. My dad was sitting at the opposite end of the table, head in hands. I walked over to my mom and wrapped her in a hug; my brother and father followed suit. We stood there, listening to each other's breathing and heavy sobs. Once we all released, we started discussing the elephant in the room. When can you have surgery? When do you start treatment? Is it terminal?
But the most important question I had, which was never spoken, was will my mom ever smile again? Now if any of you have never experienced the effects cancer can have on you emotionally, first, thank the good Lord, and I pray that you never do. Second, you may think this is such a silly question to be asking yourself at a time like this. But to me, that's all I could think about.
My mom has such a contagious smile — I would know, I have it. While my mom may not have the outrageous, goofy sense of humor that I have (thanks, Dad), her laugh was something I wouldn't trade for the world. When she laughed, she wouldn't just chuckle, she would full on belly laugh until tears streamed down her face. At the time I found out she had cancer, I had thought that this pure happiness I saw every day, would vanish. Not such a silly question now, is it?
A couple of days later, my mom woke up to see my brother and I off to school; before I left, she searched through her jewelry box and gave me one of her necklaces to wear. The necklace was silver and black with two hearts that hung side by side from the braided chain. She said, "You can do it. I love you."
Once my brother and I got to school, I walked in and couldn't look at anyone. All I saw was the floor until I lifted my eyes to my group of friends at our locker bank. We all just kind of stood there quietly. Allison held my hand; Alex put his arm around my shoulders; Sullivan, Joey, Jill and Blake all smiled at me lovingly. The rest of the day was difficult, but it amazed me to see how much better I had felt once I had all my friends there to support me. You don't get friends like them every day.
As the months went by, I could see how sick my mom really was. On July 6, 2011, my mom had the surgery to remove her cancer. My brother and I went down to St. Louis to see her post-op.
Remember how I thought I would never see my mom smile again? I couldn't have been more wrong. The smile that swept over my mom's cheeks was bigger than any other smile I had ever seen her express. While we didn't know if she would remain cancer-free at the time, our hearts rejoiced over the fact that this woman had fought cancer and won.
I couldn't be prouder of my mother. She has remained cancer-free for five years, meaning that she is officially in remission. In those past five years, she has become an advocate for colorectal cancer awareness, become a member of multiple cancer support groups on Facebook, has pretty much done every ounce of research on colorectal cancer that you can imagine and has created an everlasting glow of strength on everyone she knows. My mom is a superhero, but she couldn't have done it all without a little help.
My dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my mom's friends, myself and God were all affected by my mom's diagnosis. I guess you could say we non-verbally declared ourselves as my mother's sidekicks (every superhero needs at least one) While my mom was going through treatment, she went through a lot of emotional challenges and victories. Throughout that whole series of changes, we all shared my mother's struggles, her triumphs and rejoicing. We were a pretty great team if I do say so myself.
Every cancer patient is a superhero. Whether they are in treatment, survivors or have gained their wings, only the strongest people are chosen to fight. I thank God every day that my mom is here with us today. Unfortunately, that's not the case for a lot of cancer patients. In order to give cancer the treatment it deserves, this world is going to have to band together and help every superhero out there. If my mom, just one superhero, can change the lives of every person she knows, just think of the difference millions of superheroes can make with a little help from their sidekicks.
