Breast cancer doesn't just plunder body, it is a thief of memories. I have good reason to hate it, too:
The memory album of my mother is too small.
Blank pages are haunted with wonderings of "what might have been, if only." If only. If only…. They aren't words heart-whispered often anymore, but I'm acutely aware cancer robbed me of more memories, especially more good memories of Mama.
Flashback to 1971, Athens, Georgia, approaching the intersection of Milledge Avenue and Baxter Drive. I don't remember where we had been but I do know we were headed to our apartment less than a mile away. In her fourth year of battling cancer, Mama felt bad and needed to get home.
In my eight-year-old way of thinking, I wanted to do something (anything) to make her feel better. Children use whatever tactic they can conjure to stall bedtime, so I decided my gift to her would be going straight to bed without argument or "one more glass of water" as soon as we got home.
My intent was to let her know what she had to look forward to. Subtle-as-a jackhammer in the sleepiest voice I could muster, I yawned, "I can't wait to get home and go to bed," and continuing my Academy Award-winning charade, "I'm almost falling asleep…"
Stopped at the red light before my sentence was complete, Mama's car door suddenly opened. The sound of violent retching followed by vomited splatter echoed throughout our sedan. As she wiped her mouth and closed the door, her beleaguered voice took aim and fired over the back seat in my direction, "Well, just don't fall asleep in the car…!"
Stunned, I recoiled from her verbal dagger; my ears may have done the hearing of her barbed words, but it was my little girl's heart that felt them.
I imagine it's why I still remember this scene.
I wanted to cry, but I knew that would just upset Mama more, and even then I knew she meant no harm. Holding back tears, I mumbled something to reassure her I was fine and wouldn't be falling asleep in the car after all.
I don't remember anything after the light turned green.
Mama died the following Spring.
No wonder I h.a.t.e. cancer.
No wonder I'm grateful for the lessons Mama taught me in the nine years we shared.
No wonder I've walked in the Race for the Cure since I discovered it.
No wonder I celebrate and praise God my sister is a 12+ year survivor!
Click through to the Breast Cancer Site daily to provide FREE mammograms to those in need (it costs you nothing but a second of time!). They'll even send you a daily reminder if you're prone to forgetfulness.
and
Make a contribution to National Breast Cancer Foundation or a similar organization.
Stop that damnable thief from robbing any more memories from children; help stop it from stealing years from the lives of women.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
If at any time this month you've blogged about Breast Cancer Awareness, I invite you to share your link in comments; I'll add it below as I'm able. And thank you for using your voice on behalf of others. Your words are making a difference. 🙂
Your stories ~
"Seventeen Years," The Gypsy Mama
"Grab Your Boobies," The Diaper Diaries
Click broken heart image to return to its original source.
Wow, Robin, you’re a great writer, and this is a wonderful, wonderful post. I don’t have a link request, simply wanted you to know how moved I am by this.
That’s powerful imagery. Thanks for the honest sharing. I came over on Holley’s recommendation and your post stopped me in my tracks. My own mom died a week to the day after I turned 18. Her battle was with another member of the cancer family, leukemia. It’s been 17 years now and I am staggered by the fact that she has almost been dead to me as many years as I knew her alive. I’m even more amazed at where I have come since then. I wrote about it here http://thegypsymama.com/2009/09/02/seventeen-years/
This is so touching…
What a powerful post Robin. I have a few friends who were robbed of their mothers when they were young from this disease. My mom is a survivor, so although I still have her with me I too have been touched by this disease way too many times. I posted about it today. http://thediaperdiaries.net/works-for-me-wednesday-grab-your-boobies/
I’ve traveled that intersection many times and was able to visualize you there as a small child (in 1971 I was a student and actually lived a short distance down Milledge). My heart hurts for your loss; it’s never easy to lose a mother but certainly not at such a young, impressionable age.
My experience with breast cancer (other than a scare a few years back) was with a co-worker, who was diagnosed at age 26. Her treatment and reconstruction surgeries took years and brutalized her body. However, today she is cancer-free and the mother of two children, both conceived after her bout with cancer. Her spirit and fight awed me, especially in someone so young.
(((hugs))) Because sometimes there aren’t words.
I was there with you… that is how touched I was by your brief memory.
Robin,
I’m so, so, so sorry for your loss. I lost my mom to lung cancer this past August. I did have a lot longer with her, but it sucks all the same. I’m sorry we’re in this rotten club together. But still praising God that my mom is in my future, forever.
I hate that you had such an awful thief in your life.
My post links to a website that will donate if you put up a badge on your blog. Anyone can participate! Check out my post for details: http://headlessfamily5.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-blog-cares.html
My thoughts and heart are with you…..I will be walking in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure this Saturday in Dallas (as I do every year)! I love that I can be a part of this worthwhile cause and do my part to help!
My momma is a cancer survivor (colorectal) and I also run in the Undy 5000 to support her fight! I wish you all the best and send blessing to you…
-Summer
Lisa-Jo,
What a story of VICTORY! Your friend sounds amazing and I understand how she must have inspired you and those around her. I love the expression "I had cancer but it didn't have me" and it sounds like that's how she faced it.
I knew you’d write an amazing post today, Robin. Of course, you write amazing posts every day, but after last night’s interaction on #gno, I was extra excited to stop by. You have been through so much and I love that you so openly share your life’s experiences. You have a great way with evoking feeling in your readers and I love that.
xoxoxoxo
Oh, yes, I remember hearing the same “C” word, that eventually took my Mama.
Thank you for sharing, Robin. I have a bunch of cousins that walk the Race … and its’ my goal to join them (maybe next year).
Hugs!
I have nothing profound to add to our incredible words. But I did link… thank you!
I’m so sorry for the loss of your mom, and for the loss of happy memories with her. My heart breaks for that little girl who you once were, who just wanted to do whatever she could to make her mama feel better.
Oh baby doll. I so wish that I could hug you.
I looove you.
Heart is aching and pounding. Thank you for sharing your story. I’m so sorry for that little girl who lost her Mama —
SO many hugs to you, Robin. Thank you for sharing your heart so well and with such dignity on here for us.
Much love,
Sandy,
I was stunned the first year I walk–you will be so encouraged by the atmosphere of hope! It's palpable from the time you walk into the arena… You might even be moved to tears (I **almost** was). {{hugs}} back atcha for knowing some of the things I know….
Oh, Catherine, thank YOU! I so wanted to be positive but true to this "moment"; I began writing by glossing over the painful part. I think the post is stronger by including that perspective.
Thank you, Jennifer…that means a lot.
Okay, guys…this is just WEIRD! I replied to EVERYONE via email replies but only some of them are showing up. WHAT GIVES, TYPEPAD???
We should really spread more awareness about cancer, especially breast cancer which affects so many women nowadays.
http://healthqueen.com.au/
I lost my grandmother and an aunt to breast cancer many years ago, they were very dear women to me and similar to you, I’m trying to keep their memories alive though. I hope you find a way to do the same.