Where to begin? At the moment we first heard the dreaded pronouncement? At the moment she realized something wasn't quite right? I doubt we'll ever know when Mom knew herself, as she keeps her cards close to her chest, but how would that information help? The overwhelming feelings still cause me to stop dead in my tracks.
The only words that come to me are "love story". You ask, "Love story? How could you associate those two words with your mother's illness?" I wonder that, too. But since they've come to me over and over whenever I tried to put pen to paper there must be some truth to them.
Taking care of an ailing loved one doesn't sound romantic--and it sure isn't--but it is often a necessity. Duty equals love and love equals duty. We feel obligated to take care of the person who once took care of us. Parent and child roles reverse.
At first I balked at the notion: She's an adult! She should take care of herself! But then the reality kicks in: She needs our help... Who am I to tell her no?
Perhaps the roles have outlived their usefulness. I can return the favor of loving her like she loved me when I was small and helpless.
She's still my mother, and I am still her child, but I can also play the role of parent when she needs me to. Duty is fulfilled and honor is maintained.
Now, if only she would eat her lunch...
That's it for now. I may write more about our experiences later. Feel free to share your own love stories of fighting cancer in the comments section. Thanks.
