Mom has cancer- things not to say

Today is a big day. I want to share with you the story of when my mom got cancer. And what is was like for someone who loves her…

It is raw. It is real. It is messy. It is angry. It is pain. It is hope.

I couldn’t be more honored to share this as a guest post today on The Wounded Dove. My sweet writing friend Charity invited me to contribute there, and if you haven’t read her stuff, she is worth the time investment. Her site is temporarily under maintenance, so I’ll post it here for you.

My phone chimed and the message read, Could you call me, please?

I immediately called my Mom. Something felt off.

Is everything okay Mom?

No, but it will be.

In that moment my world changed forever. My mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

I would like to say I bravely spoke words encouraging and wise. Words of hope and comfort. Instead, my body shook with silent sobs as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

As I tried to express my heart and share the news with friends, a few comments stood out.

Things Not To Say when someone we love gets cancer

1. Well, there are no guarantees you know. People could die anytime
2. Well, it’s not about you, it is about your mom
3. Well, how old is she anyway? My _______ was _____ when they died. Your mom is young.

Most words were caring and full of compassion. Those were the cradle that gathered me in when these comments stabbed through the cracks. The other comments? Not so comforting.

I wanted to scream. And scream.

Why would ME having feelings render me incapable to express them, without sounding like a jerk? Like they meant I don’t put my mom’s well-being first?

Empathy overtook me. It’s crushing during these trials. For all of the people I love and for how this would impact them. Wishing, desperately wishing, I could shield them somehow.

Yet, I am the one huddled alone on the closet floor; feeling guilty for daring to express my heart need of wanting to go home. To my mother. To do something practical to help and keep my sanity.

My mother’s child

I am from her body. I am her daughter. We are forever connected in a way possible only by that bond.

It is unique. And it matters. It is not either/or. My needs vs. someone else’s. This or that.

There should be no tsk, tsk for a grieving daughter. For if her mother wasn’t her primary concern, there would be no tears at all.

No fear of what her mother would soon endure.

No sorrow for what she, as a woman, will lose.

Every mile feels like broken glass. Impossible to navigate safely, but necessary to come out alive. Surviving the crash of cancer.

Just hug me and let me express. Don’t offer words that are meant to encourage but fall flat or make me feel like a selfish jerk.

Helpless when mom has cancer

I am a 44-year-old woman. Who leads and manages a life; reduced to a whimpering terrified little girl who doesn’t want to lose her mommy.

Helpless.

My husband incapable of offering me what I need; I see it in his discomfort. My kids unsure of how to approach me, when their strong mother suddenly has tears streaming down her face during a family game— that was full of laughter but a few minutes prior.

My necessity to be broken, conflicts with my natural role as protector.

Agreeing with the internal conflict that has always been there, of feeling like my mom’s protector.

She does not want this from me, never asks, but it is there nonetheless.

 I feel furious that I am not free to shout, I AM SCARED. 

I LOVE MY MOTHER. I NEED TO EXPRESS THIS. I AM NOT THINKING OF MYSELF OVER ANYONE ELSE.

But of course, in the dark moments, I am.

Thinking of her soothing arms around me, whispering “sweetie pie”. And worrying I will never feel that comfort again. The comfort of my mother.

No one tells you how to cope with your mom having cancer

When she has two sisters. One lived. One died. Both had breast cancer.

I called her a week later. Two sentences in, she stopped me, Christa, you aren’t ok!

The dam burst and I became a daughter. Free to cry to her mother every fear and frustration and hurt feelings of being misunderstood.

And her words felt to me reminiscent of my childhood. Remembering being sick and her hand rubbing the hair off my forehead, smoothing.

Her voice smoothing. Soothing.

And it felt better.

Like we could be in this together.

I am a terrible liar. My emotions are raw and visible on my face for the world to see. Pain and joy share space and are impossible to hide, or fake my way through life.

And that is ok, you know?

Life has pain. We need to allow ourselves, and people in our world, space to feel it. Knowing that after every storm comes the promise of a new morning.

(For ways to be positive when someone you love has cancer, check out these ideas)

The tears wash away

I am smiling today. Soon, I’ll go home to help care for my mother during her recovery. It will be hard and surely the tears will come in the darkness when I know she suffers.

But the sun will rise and we will too. Fighters rising from the ashes of heartache; our tears having washed clean the smudges of yesterday.

She is my mother and I am her child. Age and time and distance never alter that. So I will go, and this time? When my mom feels sick, perhaps I will gently smooth her hair back.

Reminding her she is stronger than she knows. And God will remind me, as He always does, that I too am stronger than I know.

Because He is the giver of morning mercies and the life preserver that brings us through the storm.

Do you ever find yourself unable to express feelings without concern that they won’t be understood?

Breast cancer resources to encourage:

• Dear Friend: Letters of Encouragement, Humor, and Love for Women with Breast Cancer
• Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book
• Lavender Hair: 21 Devotions for Women with Breast Cancer
• The Living Kitchen: Nourishing Whole-Food Recipes for Cancer Treatment and Recovery
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