What I Would Say…If Only I Could
Today is the 9-year anniversary of my mother's death. I feel her loss deeply.
As I go through my cancer treatment, I can't help but wish she was around for me to talk to. Not so much because she went through it herself (three decades ago) and could provide insight, but mostly so that I could tell her that I understand so much more now than I did before.
I was just ten years old when she went through breast cancer treatment. I remember how very sick it made her, even when I didn't understand what was going on. My mother tried to keep things to herself. I wasn't even told that she had cancer-I heard about it accidentally through my best friend, who had been told not to tell me.
My mother couldn't have kept the secret long-term anyway, as treatment was brutal on her. She had a radical mastectomy, intense radiation treatment (much more harsh that what is done today) and a long course of chemo...without any anti-nausea drugs. She drove herself to and from treatments and in between she cared for three children. I don't remember anyone ever coming over to help out. While I would do little things, like bring her toast and coffee or cool washcloths, there is not much a ten-year old can do to make a difference in that situation.
In the years that followed, her surgery and treatment haunted her. Back then, insurance didn't pay for reconstructive surgery and so she wasn't able to have it. Her self-image was damaged from the scarring and having only an ill-fitting prosthesis to wear, one that chafed against her. Her left arm never regained strength after surgery and I suspect she developed lymphedema. The white lock that came in when her hair re-grew, the one that refused to take color, was a constant reminder of what she had been through.
And yet, I think that when it was over, everyone expected that she would be able to leave this completely behind her. I don't know how she could.
I wish, more than anything, that I could be with her now and say, "Mom, I see what you went through. I am sorry that it happened and I am sorry that you did not get the help you deserved. You can talk about it as much as you want." My heart aches knowing that she was not listened to enough, and now she cannot talk to me about her experience any more.
Mom, wherever you are, I love you and I am sorry.
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