Loving Through the Worst Thing Possible

I can’t remember exactly when I found out; sometime in late January or early February of 2025 my phone rang. From the caller ID, I knew it was my daughter. I picked up the phone but before I could take a breath her words tumbled into my ears. “Mom, I have a lump in my breast. It’s big.” Her words came faster as the pitch of her shaky voice rose. “I have been trying to get a mammogram and see a doctor, but since we just moved, I can’t find one. No one will see me.”

I take a deep slow breath. What can I say? What does this mean? 

“Does it hurt?” I had heard that if it is cancer it does not hurt.

“Try not to jump to conclusions. Let’s work on finding a doctor before we plan your funeral.”

Although I was sober for 39 years at the time, our relationship remained fractured.  I had tried everything to “help” her. Even with my best efforts, I found myself screaming at her for some minor misdemeanor or misstep.  We had been trying to find our way to a healthy relationship, and we were getting along much better. But there was so much damage and pain due to my alcoholism, her drug addiction and her father’s abuse and rejection.

A week before that phone call, I attended an AA-related conference. Mary, one of the speakers, a woman who has been sober a few years longer and is a few years older than I, said, “It is possible to heal relationships with your children, even if they are in their 50’s.” Tears welled up as I gulped to keep from bursting open. The words shook me deeply. That was what I wanted.

Melissa got busy and scheduled appointments with a number of doctors for tests and consultations. The first appointment was the mammogram. When it was over, I was gently ushered into the office to wait with her for the doctor to deliver the results. Silently, my daughter and I held hands and tried not to cry. Time stopped. The background sounds in the busy office faded away.  The doctor and the nurse, noiselessly, floated in.  An aura of calm surrounded us as the doctor sat face-to-face with Melissa and introduced herself. The words “It’s bad, isn’t it?” escaped from my daughter’s mouth.

“Well, it isn’t the result I had hoped for.”

The details of that meeting are blurry but included a preliminary diagnosis of breast cancer and lots of instructions about doctors, appointments, and more tests and types of treatment depending upon the kind of breast cancer. Eventually she received a diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic triple negative breast cancer. The doctor left, we cried and held each other. “Mom, I knew it was cancer. I just knew. When you know, you know.”

It is going to be all right. I do not know what “all right” looks like or how we will get to “all right” but I know it will work out. That was not the thought I had expected to come to mind but I knew it was true. God was there with us and would remain with us as we navigated this journey. In sobriety, my faith had grown. I knew that we would have all that we needed. Mary’s words came to mind “It is possible to heal relationships with your children even if they are in their 50’s.”

Later at the conference I had the opportunity to talk with Mary about the healing process. “Try praying this prayer every day. It helped me, and I think it might help you.  ‘God make me the mother you want me to be, not the mother I think I should be.’”

My heart felt the words as I absorbed the meaning and the truth of the prayer. I had always tried to be the mother I thought my mother wanted me to be, but I fell short. God was not in the picture, but anger and fear were. There is nothing I would like more than to find a way for our relationship to be healed, and so I prayed the prayer every day as Mary had suggested.

The reality of cancer became like a roommate, always there with something to say. As the cancer grows in Melissa, the reality grows in me.  What do I do now? When I get old and infirm, my daughter will take care of me. I guess that is not happening. One day at a time, I can do this. The mother is supposed to die before the child. This is backward. Remember it is not about me, it is about her. How can I help when I know I cannot live through this, and I don’t want to live through it? But I will. I don’t want to live if she is not here. I don’t have to face that now. Today I will continue to ask God to make me the mother he wants me to be and not the mother I think I should be.

We have talked and loved each other. We thought about our lives together. She asked about me and why I got sober, my amends to her father, and about him and his family. I answered, truthfully. I prayed the prayer. Gradually, in doctors’ offices, in the infusion room, awaiting test results or driving down the road, our relationship changed. We listened. We told each other the truth.

Melissa’s cancer continues to grow. She has been through two rounds of chemo, lost her hair, her fingernails and some days cannot get out of bed. The latest CT scan showed the tumors are still growing, but slowly. She will be starting a third regimen of chemo in a few weeks. This is the new reality of our lives. What was once surreal has become the norm. Life has been one of chaos: filled with surprises, challenges, pain, disappointments, great love, joy, and fulfillment. Now another unexpected situation has dropped into our lives and we will never be the same.

Tears, laughter, love, fear. It has been nearly one year that my daughter and I have been living with cancer. The sun is brighter, the wind is sharper, and my eyes have not run out of tears.