Time Passes

A year ago, I was feeling inside out. 

A year ago, I had a purse party at my house.  It was supposed to be an exciting housewarming theme party.  "Let's Button Up Winter" was very fitting for a party that involved picking out different fabrics and purse styles to then have the lady sew that creation for you.

A year ago, my parents were at the Mayo Clinic when my mom was supposed to be at my purse party.  They were finding out exactly what her lump was and making a plan.  

A year ago, while the purse lady was setting up all of her fabric, I stood huddled in the corner of my garage hearing my mom tell me over the phone that she would be having life threatening surgery on her lump, which was indeed cancer, the next day.

A year ago, I took a deep breath and walked back into my house to face all of those friends I had invited to my party. 

A year ago, I pretended.

A year ago, I broke down when only a few remained.   

A year ago, I drove to work the next morning.  My mom called me about half way there to talk for moment before she went in for surgery.  There was a very real chance when I hung up that phone call, it was the last time I'd hear my mom's voice as the surgeon was sure her vocal chords would be affected.

A year ago, my mom was the strong one when I should have been. 

A year ago, when we said goodbye, tears streamed down my face like they never have before, enough to soak my steering wheel. 

A year ago, I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and walked into work to face the eighteen children in my classroom.

A year ago, I pretended.

A year ago, many many people were praying.  Praying hard for my mom.  So hard that later she told us she felt a warmth right before they wheeled her into the operating room.  A warmth she described as feeling like she was wrapped in love. 

A year ago, my dad texted me throughout the day.  The surgery, a neck dissection, was what could be considered a success.  My mom would need more treatment, the cancer not completely gone, but she was alive with a voice.  

A year ago, I drove home feeling the most grace I've ever felt with a certainty of faith that had previously escaped me.          
                                                                                     

A year ago, I walked into my house and stood in the middle of my kitchen with tears once again running down my face and my hands clasped together saying, "Thank you.  Thank you."

A year ago, my sister came literally running through my front door and we met in the middle of my living room in a tight embrace.

A year ago, my sister and I sat next to each other on my couch calling my brother and his family to talk about the "good" news.

A year ago, my mom called us.  Her raspy voice was truly music to our ears.  She was in so much pain, but she never told us.  She had to have been in pain.  Having your neck cut all the way across and the skin peeled all the way back to your shoulder is not a minor surgery.  But, my mom is one of the toughest people I know.  She just kept saying that it would all be okay.

A year ago, my mom comforted us when we should have been comforting her.

A year ago, my parents made the careful and slow trip back from the Mayo Clinic and my mom's neck looked like Frankenstein and she was so extremely sore.

A year ago, when she walked into their house at the farm she was greeted by her three kids, her daughter-in-law who had held onto the baby inside her belly so Nana Debi could be home for the birth, and her two grandkids.  All so unbelievably excited to just see her. 

A year ago, we all knew as we hugged and visited and spent time with each other that day that the cancer journey was not over.  We all knew that Mom had a long, hard, and painful recovery ahead of her.  We all knew there would be treatments.  But we also knew that the first step was over and we knew that Mom would still be able to tell us she loved us with her voice, not just her actions.

A year ago, when I walked into my sister-in-law's hospital room and saw my mom holding the newest addition to our family, I knew that God had a hand in her being there. 

A year ago, my family was given a gift.  

Today, my mom is cancer free.