guest post: a cancer story
I love October. I love the fall, the change in weather and the beginning of the holidays. But I also love October because it is cancer awareness month. A month designated to help and honor those we love and those we don’t know who have been affected by cancer. My sister in law Maury is one of those dear and special people. When Maury first came into our family I knew immediately that her and her mom, Barbara had a special relationship. It was a honor to be around Barbara. She was funny and witty, and had the sweetest voice. I remember her passion for art, diet Coke, and music. She is missed, a lot. I want to thank Maury for sharing her personal memories with all of us.
I still remember the day cancer walked into my life like it was yesterday.
I was 22. I had just given birth to my first baby, my son Connor, and my mom was getting ready to head out after spending a week with my husband and I in our small San Francisco apartment.
My husband, my mom and I were sitting in front of the TV watching “24” while little Connor slept in the baby swing nearby. A commercial break came on. She muted the TV. She said she had something to tell us. Something very important. She started to explain that recently she had found a lump in her neck, went to the doctor, had it biopsied. She has cancer. Stage 4. It started in her colon and it has spread throughout her body. As soon as she gets back home she will start chemo and radiation and she will do all that she can to beat it.
Cancer.
But people I know don’t get cancer. People in movies get cancer. People on TV and commercials and people with no hair have cancer. Not my mom. Not someone I know.
My mom left the next morning. I cried. I kissed her at my front door and told her I loved her and that I didn’t want her to go. I told her I was scared. Everything is going to be fine, she said, she will miss me and Connor and see me very soon. I love you big.
I watched her walk out my front door and walk down the stairs and I knew, in that moment, even though I was still in shock after hearing her say she had cancer, that I would never see her like that again. Healthy and strong. And I think that the sudden surety of that was harder to deal with than the fact that she had been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer.
(Barbara and Maury at 18 months)
My mom was superwoman. Girls who think their mom is the greatest are easy to come by, but my mom was pretty extraordinary. My alcoholic deadbeat of a father took off at age 5 and came around when he had a new girlfriend or wife to show me and my brother to, then went back to pretending we didn’t exist. He was never a help. She worked hard to provide for my brother and I. A newspaper route at 3am, wallpapering houses all day, then coming home and being mom. We had cereal for dinner a lot. We liked to play tetris and stay up late and dance in the kitchen. I say this all the time: I didn’t have a lot growing up, but I had a lot of love, so I never ever felt that I went without.
After that week of my mom helping me learn how to be a mom (which is a week I often think of and will always be grateful that I had), she got back to Arizona to begin the battle. She fought and fought and fought. She lost weight, her tastes changed, she was tired. Always so so tired. It was always in her nature to be strong, though. She wasn’t a complainer before and she didn’t become one then. We talked and emailed and I visited often. Each time I saw her she was a little bit less herself and a little more sick.
Every time I said goodbye, whether it was on the phone or at the end of a visit, I always said, “Just work on getting better.” Her response was always the same, “I’m trying really hard.” And always, “I love you big.” “I love you too.”
Months passed. A year passed. There were ups and downs and days of good news and days of bad news. Breaks from treatment meant breaks from side effects, which was always a good thing. I was on the phone with her one evening and I asked her how long she would have to do all the treatments, “When will you finally be done? When will the doctor say that you don’t have to do any more treatments?” I was anxious for life to get back to normal again. She paused and said, “Well, I am doing the treatments because they are giving me time…. I’ll have to do treatments for the rest of my life.” I said, “oh.” In my naive, young, hopeful and innocent mind I was thinking that “the rest of her
life” meant a long time. To her, it meant something different. She was telling me that she was going to die of cancer. And yet, at the time I didn’t have the ability to register it.
life” meant a long time. To her, it meant something different. She was telling me that she was going to die of cancer. And yet, at the time I didn’t have the ability to register it.
As time went on, she got weaker and sicker and the cancer grew. The cancer that had spread to her brain started to affect her motor skills. She couldn’t walk anymore, couldn’t lift one arm. If she was laying she had to have help sitting up. She needed help going to the restroom. Her face looked different and her voice sounded different. Every little thing she did was difficult and required help.
I had watched the strongest person I knew become completely helpless. That was hard. It was the hardest part of cancer without a doubt.
( Barbara and Maury- December 2000)
I remember the last conversation I had with her so vividly. Brian and I were in the process of moving home after dental school. I had been through several weeks of sleepless nights because of newborn Cash, my second baby boy… and Brian and I had spent the last week moving- packing boxes, cleaning, organizing, and all the things that are involved with moving out of an apartment. I was on my way to the airport by myself with only a newborn and a 21 month old. I had been up the night before finishing the cleaning in the apartment and I hadn’t had any sleep. I was terrified of flying alone with my babies and all that it entailed. So I called my mom. My grandmom answered and I just cried and said, “I want to talk to my mom.” She said, “is everything okay?” I said, “I just want to talk to my mom.” She hesitated and said, “Honey… I’ll see if she can talk right now…” My mom came on the phone and before I even made a sound she said, “Sweetie, are you okay?” She already knew I was crying. I said, “I am really tired and overwhelmed and scared to get on a plane with two babies. I don’t know if I can do on this on my own. I just really wish you were here Mommy.” Then she said, “Oh, sweetie. I am with you. I will ALWAYS be with you. Never forget that.” I cried some more and said okay and that I loved her and I would see her as soon as I got home after the plane arrived. When I arrived my mom was back out of conciousness and when I spoke to Grandmom she told me that the reason she was so hesitant to put my mom on the phone was because my mom was not “with it” very much in the past few days and she didn’t want to put her on the phone with me and have her not know who I was or what was going on. Grandmom said that right after my mom hung up with me, she slipped back into the same state and that it might have been the last time she had a speaking conversation with anyone. My mom passed away two weeks later. I still think about that conversation every time I want her here and I think of what she told me.
Cancer changed my life. It took my mom. The one person in the world who loves you like no one else can. For that reason, I will never forgive cancer, but instead I’ll focus on how it has changed me for the better. I believe in God and I believe He has a plan and I fully completely 100% trust Him. It took me a very, very long time to get there. Cancer and death has also taught me that the only thing that is promised is RIGHT NOW. When I lay with my babies on Sunday morning, I breathe in their hair and I study their tiny hands and I bite their little toes. When I help my boys get in their football uniform, or give them hugs and kiss their blonde hair, I take that moment and I lock it away forever because it belongs to me and it can’t be taken away. Every night when I am getting ready for bed, I am grateful that the people I love are here and healthy and that I had another day with them. Not just grateful because I know I should be, but grateful because I have experienced what it was like to go to bed each night without that feeling, and it wasn’t easy. I appreciate the light because for a long time I was in the dark.
(Brian and Maury today with their children: Connor, Cash, Posey and Lou)
So to end things, I could remind you of all that you need to do- colonoscopies, breast exams, healthy living. But, instead I’ll just leave you with what I have learned. God is in charge. He gives you great gifts and He gives you great trials and He has a plan. Trust in it. Lastly, love this moment! Love this moment because it is filled with beauty. It is filled with light.
– Maury Harris –
xxo
xxo
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Wow. That was really touching, heartfelt, and real. Thank you for sharing your heart with us. It was beautifully written. Your Mom sounded like such a wonderful and strong woman. I know without a doubt that she is with you….more than you even know. I’ve lost many people very close to me in my life and have experienced pain and grief that I will never be able to explain fully in words. But with that pain came life lessons that I could never have learned without deep loss. There are a lot of dark and sad times but when you come out of it and see the light…you appreciate it that much more. Thanks again for sharing….I needed it today.
Oh, wow! Beautiful! Your story touched me in so many ways. First, and most lighthearted, my husband worked on “24” for all 8 seasons. Right there I knew this message was for me. Second, I am a cancer survivor. Third, I am a mother. I battled my cancer at the ripe age of 29 before I became a mother. I now have a beautiful 15month old baby girl. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about the cancer. Thoughts that most mothers never have to think about cross my mind every night as I rock my baby to sleep…Will the cancer return, will I one day leave her motherless, was I selfish for bringing her into this world? Your perspective is so inspiring. I have yet to find that peace, that faith, that trust, that light. I hope someday to be where you are. Thank you for sharing your beautiful journey.
This really touched me, Maury! I was blinking away years reading it in line at Disneyland today! My mom had breast cancer a few years ago and has since made a full recovery. Still freaks me out though when I think about it. Thank you for sharing.
This is amazing, what an awesome post.
Jade said it for me Maury. I also just learned a lot reading your post. Thank you.
Our sweet and wonderful daddy died from the same cancers. It completely changed my life. Dad was young. He had so many years to live and enjoy us ….. but couldn’t because of this terrible disease. I think of our dad every single day.
Marcee/Chicago
Such a beautiful and yet sad story about the love for an amazing mum. Thank you for sharing it. Puts life and many of our worries into perspective.
Big, Ugly crying over here. How beautiful. Thank you for sharing!!!
This story is beautiful and heart breaking. Love when people are brave enough to share there stories!
While I love expensive clothes, etc…this was a beautiful post on the blog. A very real post. What a lovely Mother and a Mother we all hope to be like. Thank you for sharing your story and very personal experience.
I am going through this right now in my life with my mother. Your words helped me more than you know, and THANK YOU for writing this post, for sharing your heartache, and for sharing your brave attitude and outlook. God Bless!
Love you. Lots.
Thank you for sharing this most personal experience to all the world. You are a brave woman who obviously gets it from her mother. All my best.
Beautiful, Maury.♥
Wow, what a beautiful yet heartwrenching post. Thank God for giving you the last conversation with your mom. I hate cancer!!
Beautifully written Maury, thanks for sharing your story. You are a strong, wonderful mother who I look up to. So grateful I’ve had the opportunity to get to know you. Sure love you and your sweet family:)