I was 15 years old when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember when my parents called my 9 brothers and sisters and me into the living room and I remember coming in with a surly attitude, insulted that I had been called away from something I was doing, for this “stupid family meeting.” I recall her face when they told us. I don’t remember her crying. I remember how she and my dad just reassured us that although cancer was very serious, they were sure mom would be just fine. She had such faith. Now that I am the same age she was then, I know she must have been absolutely frightened on the inside. Her mind must have been reeling at the thought of all the possibilities: death, surgery, chemo-therapy, radiation, hair loss, her children and my dad.
How frightened she must have been, especially when she held her little three year old daughter. She must have looked into her “baby’s” big blue eyes and wondered what the future would bring.
I was there with her in the hospital when she saw herself for the first time after her surgery. She had undergone a mastectomy which not only took her right breast, but all the tissue and skin underneath her arm. Oh, how she cried. How ashamed she must have been of her deformed body. I don’t know how she ever faced my dad again, it’s a testimony of her faith in him as her husband and friend. She knew he loved her for who she was and he would always be there for her.
I went with her a few times when she had her chemo. She was so sick. It seemed that every day she lost more and more hair and became thinner and thinner. Her body was scarred and in constant pain. Yet, I don’t ever remember hearing her complain.
As I thought about my mom, I began to compare her life and circumstances with mine. At that time she had 10 children all under the age of 16. Her “to do list” was miles long. She had loads of laundry, piles of dirty dishes and no dishwasher, children to be taxied all over, and a never ending list of things that needed to be mended or repaired. Our family was very poor, but she always made do. She sewed many of the things we wore, not because she enjoyed it, but because she had to. There simply wasn’t enough money for all our needs. Again, I never heard her complain. I never heard her say one word that might ever lead me to think she thought her life was hard. She loved and supported my dad and never complained that there wasn’t a lot of extras.
As a matter of fact, I do remember her reply to my constant complaints about our “lot in life.” She would always say that we were “rich in love.” As one of the oldest and first in the family, I can tell you that I never ever heard her say that she regretted having any of the 10 of us. She considered her children as her greatest blessings.
My mom’s battle with cancer continued for 4 years. After graduating from high school I left home to attend Brigham Young University. The following summer, I returned home to get married and then my husband and I went back to BYU for school. As Christmas that year got closer and closer I kept feeling like I really needed to go “home” for the winter break. This was
virtually impossible since we were poor students and the flights home were very expensive. I also knew that I had been home just 4 months earlier and it seemed like a frivolous desire, but the feeling persisted and we decided to sacrifice the money for the trip. How thankful I am now for that prompting.
When I got home I found my mom up in her room in bed. I was so surprised to see the change in her. She was so skinny and frail and was having a difficult time breathing. She had lost so much weight that to walk was painful; much of the fat and muscle tissue was gone so there was nothing cushioning her feet and she could feel the floor with the bones in her heels. The worst part was that she couldn’t breathe because fluid had built up in her lungs. During the first few days of our visit her breathing became so labored that she had me take her to the doctor. There I held her as they stuck a huge needle, perhaps a quarter inch in diameter, through her back and into her lungs. I don’t recall the doctor being able to use an anesthetic during the process because of mom’s condition. The needle was attached to a hose which then began to drain the fluid from her lungs. There was so much fluid. I remember wondering how she had been able to take even a small breath with all of that fluid in her lungs. She had literally been drowning before my eyes. The process of extracting the fluid was very painful. As the fluid left her lungs and was not immediately replaced with air my mom felt as if her lungs were collapsing. She couldn’t breathe and the pain in her chest seemed unbearable. All I could do was hold her tight and tell her it would be all over very soon. Again she did not complain.
When I first arrived home for that visit I remember that mom was glad to see me, but more concerned about Christmas. It was only a few days away and she hadn’t been able to do much to prepare. She still had little ones who were expecting a visit from Santa and she needed my
help to get things ready. I sat with her as she made her list and then went in search of the toys, clothes, and other items she thought her children wanted. I wanted to just sit beside her and visit with her, but she was insistent that I get the remaining things on her list. She didn’t like being sick over Christmas, and she wanted it to be a good holiday for her kids. She didn’t want
it spoiled by her illness. Then just 3 days before Christmas her lungs again filled up with fluid and her breathing became so difficult that the doctors felt that she should be hospitalized. On Christmas Eve day I went to visit with her and-- again there was a list. One of the little ones had asked for roller skates and it was important to my mom that I get them. There were a few other things needed and as I left her hospital room I had no idea that it would be the last time that I would see her alive in this life. Looking back now, I should have known. She weighed only about 80 pounds and had tubes in her mouth and nose to help her breathe. Earlier that day she had undergone the same fluid extraction process as she had undergone earlier and I knew she was in a lot of pain. She spoke in a whisper, because she lacked the air for a true voice. She had to remove the oxygen mask in order to utter anything at all and it was difficult to hear her.
I was in K-mart shopping for the few things left on the list... it was Christmas Eve. I remember
seeing my dad come quickly into the store, asking me to come with him to the hospital because the doctors had called and told him to come right away. As we traveled to the hospital I prayed with all of my heart that she would be alive and alright. I selfishly pleaded with our Father in Heaven not to take my mom. I explained that we all needed her so much. I cried as my thoughts turned to the “little kids” who needed the love of their mother. My heart broke as I thought of the “big kids” too. Those teenagers still needed the loving guidance that I had received from my mom when I had been their age. I thought of my older brother on his mission and how much she had loved him and sacrificed for him. He needed her too. We all needed her and I just knew it wasn’t time for her to go, but it was.
When my dad and I arrived at the hospital we were told that she had passed away just a short time before. I went into her room and sat by her side and held her hand. I told her I loved her
and kissed her face and said good bye. I felt her spirit in that room.
As I sit in my home with my many comforts, surrounded by those that I love, with my healthy body and with my loved ones nearby, I know I would not want to walk in my mom’s shoes. I realize I could not walk in her shoes and ever do it with as much faith, hope and charity. She did not complain. She loved her children and to her dying breath her thoughts were of those she loved most.
Christmas is one of the most special times of the year for me. I often think of the many wonderful examples my mom set for me, especially during her last Christmas on earth. Looking back now I recognize that she gave me many precious gifts that did not come in pretty wrapped packages set under a tree. Instead, the gifts I am most thankful for are those she gave with her heart and her life. She gave me her love and acceptance. She taught me right from wrong and shared the true and everlasting gospel with me. She set a magnificent example for me of one who endures to the end, keeping a hope in Christ. It is my prayer that I will not waste these gifts. I feel tremendously blessed to have known her and felt of her love.
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