Friday, September 12, 2008
Thirty three years ago this morning my Mom lost her battle with cancer. It was before mamograms. She was 45. She found her cancer early and it was already a Stage 4. She had two radical mastectomies and yet it spread. She fought the good fight wanting to live long enough to see my brother and I graduate from high school. As it turned out she died one week into my brothers senior year and my sophmore year.
I was 15 and he was 17.
I used to think 45 was ancient. It's not. When I reached the age she was when she died, it was a turning point in my own life. I'm 48 now and celebrate every year I'm alive. I will never be one of those intolerant women who begrude having a birthday since it means they're a year older. To complain about age is a waste of time and energy. It should be a celebration!
They should be so lucky!
So, when this happens you grow up fast and make your own life early on. This is what my brother and I did. I guess we still are. I feel she would be proud of the lives we have made for ourselves and the people we share them with.
I feel her presence and her absence every day.
Does it get easier? I'm not sure. I'll let you know that when I figure it out myself.
Continue your self-exams and be dilligent.
But also, love every day you have, life is shorter than we think.