The Time I Thought My Mom Was Going to Die

We were at Bradley International Airport when my mom told me she had cancer. We had just sat down with our Dunkin’ Donuts coffees, waiting to board a plane to Florida for a mother-daughter trip. She said it in a matter-of-fact manner, just like she does everything, as though she was talking about the weather or a new pair of shoes she bought. I reacted as I do to all things, anxiously and dramatically. I immediately asked her 100 questions about her diagnosis, but most importantly I asked her, “Who else knows?" 

It turns out that I was the last one of our family to know. She wanted to tell me in person, and this was the first time she had seen me since the diagnosis. She also said she knew I'd, "act like this," and she was hesitant to share with me until this particular moment.  I drove to her house the day prior to our planned departure, and she could’ve told me as soon as I arrived, so I asked her why she waited 24 hours to tell me and why she waited until we were departing on our vacation to share this terrifying news. I never got an answer from her but I’m assuming it was because she thought that being in sunny, happy Florida would help decrease my anxiety and perhaps her anxiety, too. After giving me the facts, which were that she had bladder cancer, they caught it early, and she'd have surgery in a few weeks, when they would take a look at what was going on, it was pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in talking about it. I followed her lead and chose not to ask her anymore questions. However, my mind was already on overdrive. I already had too many friends who lost their parents to cancer or other illnesses. I knew what a possible outcome could be.  We are very different but my mom and I are very close, and always have been, even when I was a demonic teenager who aggressively blamed her for everything wrong in the world, and particularly in my life. Because of her hard work and care, I achieved what she never did, like going to college, getting a master's degree, and pursuing my professional passions. Motherhood brought us closer together. As most of us experience when we become mothers, we enter a secret society that reveals untold stories, passed down through a shared experience. We also gain a better understanding what our own mothers may have experienced in raising us.  At the time of the trip, I still considered myself a relatively newbie mother, highly dependent on the advice and support of my mom. It was clear to me that I wasn’t capable of raising children myself, and it was also clear that my spouse, Andy, had certain limitations when it came to parenting, and little understanding of the challenges of motherhood. This was evidenced by him never having changed a diaper before we brought our first child home, and asking me if I’d had a “productive day " at home on her fifth day of life. I’ve always needed my mom, and I knew I needed her now more than ever and here I was, spending the next three days with her in a tropical paradise, not knowing if we would ever get the chance to do this again. Our first task after arriving in Florida was to pick up our rental car. As I handed the man at the desk, Jesus, my credit card, he confirmed our rental dates and type of car, a Nissan Versa. I have a hate/hate relationship with the Nissan Versa because my father-in-law and Andy insisted this was the car for me after my Dodge Caravan died a few months prior. I traded a little house on wheels for a tin can on wheels and now I was going to drive my least favorite car on vacation. Jesus saw me cringe and suggested we consider an upgrade. I turned to Mom and she said no. Mom did not grow up with a lot of money, and has always been very frugal. She just opened a bank account a few years ago, previously managing her money via the cash envelopes from the bank, and she sticks to a strict budget. When the grocery envelope was empty that meant no more groceries were bought that week. Her motto is don't spend more than you budget. We budgeted a certain amount of money for the rental car and therefore, we would not be able to upgrade.  I stood at the counter, a line building behind me  and a credit card in my hand. My mom was still next to me, with our bags at her feet. My mom, who had cancer. Jesus asked me, again, if I wanted to upgrade. I said, "Listen Jesus, muchas gracias por la oferta. I really want to upgrade but we just can't." I'm not sure if it was that Jesus was now talking to a New England white girl who spoke Spanglish, or if he was a good salesman who knew how to spin an emotional car renter, but he replied, "You speak Spanish! I will be right back. I am going to talk to my manager." Moments later, he returned and pushed a piece of paper toward me. "I can give you a big discount on a Mustang. It's a convertible." Mom started to say no. I handed my card to Jesus, smiling. "Muchas gracias, mi amigo." Twenty minutes later and mom and I were cruising down the highway in our black convertible Mustang, with the wind in our hair and the ocean at our side. For the rest of the trip, we drank, we overate, sat in the sun, took walks and read books. A certifiable sweet tooth, Mom decided what we'd have for dessert each night and I cajoled her into facing her fear of small boats by kayaking. It was three days of R&R that I bottled up and carried home in my heart and memory, still uncertain of what was ahead for my mom and her cancer diagnosis. A few weeks later my mom had surgery. I asked if she wanted me to take time off to help her and she said no. I hired a house cleaner and she made me cancel. Days after the surgery, she was up and about, making my dad dinner and cleaning the toilet.  After the surgery, Mom learned she was cancer free and remains so to this day. We now include both of my daughters in the yearly trip. We still love to talk about the time we rented a Mustang. Oh, and I no longer own the Versa, whose last drive was taken up my front deck and through my garage. I'll save that story for another post, dedicated to the other important mother in my life, my mother-in-law. I write this post in honor of my mother and my grandmother. They are the most influential women of my childhood and, while I know my mom loves to celebrate the day with me and my kids, it is also bittersweet as she mourns the loss of her own mother. I also dedicate this to the many other women in my life, who grieve today, because they, too, have lost their moms. I send you my love and I honor your strength. Thank you.