The crisp autumn air and the golden, crackling trees starting to lose their leaves generally brings to the forefront of my mind the time in my life for which I would be changed forever. My naïve 15 year old self would never be the same.
I’ve never really had the opportunity to share this moment in my life with that many people. I never thought that I really should. I hate having people feel sorry for me. It's not a sorrowful thing to me. I've grown through this and I am grateful for what I am left with: love and memories.
Only one person existed whom I could tell my problems to and just let my heart pour out like a cascading waterfall: it was my mom. On multiple occasions, my mom and I turned our nails from clear, plain, fingers, to a bright vivacious red color while we chatted about our days. In the autumnal months, especially with hefty appetites (must be from our bodies needing to fatten up for the winter) baking sweets was a necessity for my mom and I. Nothing could possibly thaw a chilling fall day than freshly cooked, cordial, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies or delicate sweet strawberries tingling with chocolate. Chocolate, for that matter dissipated any negative feelings and could be melted or made with just about anything, especially in the days to come.
March 2005. I remember my mom calling all of us to the living room to talk. “This is just a family meeting to tell my brother and me to do our chores the right way,” I thought. “BJ, Katie”, my mom spoke. “I just wanted to let you know that I love you two VERY much. God is with us all the time and He’s still with us now. Today I went to the doctor…and they told me that I have breast cancer.” I froze. I couldn’t move. She told us how they had caught it early and that it would be an easy process. At that point, I started laughing in confusion. My little brother probably didn’t understand either. He was six and understood that she was sick and needed medicine. I knew that cancer was a horrible disease that attacked the body and sometimes, victims of it did not survive. Then I went to my room and broke down. I couldn’t talk to my mom and pour my heart out about it, I just couldn’t this time.
She had to go in monthly for chemotherapy treatments and the chemo often made her sick and sometimes it was worse than having the flu. She cut off all her hair (because the chemo made it fall out anyway) and wore goofy wigs and stylish hats. We made fun of each other while we tried on some of the ridiculous headwear. Our favorite was a cobalt blue “swimming cap” with colorful simple flowers on it that she wore nearly every day (when she didn’t have to go to work). The cancer finally ceased after 8 long months. Here and there, my mother would have to go in for treatments and the only type of food that made her feel better was chocolate. Chemo often left a metallic taste and chocolate was just the thing to cover up that awful taste. The cancer started to dissipate and things were looking better, there were very few “spots” with cancer. Life started getting back to normal. Normal for us was not having not to worry about my mom.
January 2006, it returned. This time called Inflammatory Breast Cancer. This kind of cancer was stubborn and my mom needed a stem cell transplant. It was a new type of treatment that would be tried out for one of the first times on my mom. In order for this treatment to begin, she would have to stay in Houston, Texas for about 3-6 months. I didn’t want her to go. Each month she was visited by people in the family and her close friends that would stay for a whole month rotating between people. I missed my mom so much. We talked every night and she told me about her day in Houston and I told her about my day at school and about some of the struggles that I had dealt with that day. She missed my first dance (8th grade social), but I knew that she was still thinking about me, while at the same time, flushing her body of the awful cancer.
Every day after school, my best friend Allison and I walked to the elementary school from the middle school to pick up our younger siblings. One day as we were about to find a spot to sit down Allison stopped. “Hey Katie, is that your mom??” she asked. I looked closely and said, “nope, she’s in Houston remember?” I took one more glance to make sure that it really wasn’t her because I had thoughts and hallucinations that she was there sometimes. Then I did one of those double-takes and saw that it really was my mom. I ran to her, so full of joy and excitement, and gave her the biggest hugs that I had ever given.
My mom was not back from Houston because her treatments were finished, she had come back early because the treatment had some problems. I did not know this at the time and I didn't question my mom's presence back at home. I was absolutely thrilled to have her back. The cancer gradually took a hold of my mom, but did not take a hold of her faith.
The next few months my mother continued to visit the hospital for her treatments. She eventually had to spend weeks at a time in the hospital as the cancer continued to grow. During the holidays though, and every time that autumn would roll around, we whipped out the cookie dough and chocolate foods and other sweets. One of the sweets that I continue to make every year is Chocolate Coconut Squares. They remind me of my mother and the times that we spend together as a family, eating chocolate and sweets to melt our worries away. We relied on God, prayer, support from friends and family, and sugar.
Near the end of her life, my mom made several requests for her loved ones. I got a remodeled room and my mom “hooked me up” with her friend’s son (who I had a major crush on at the time) to go to freshman homecoming together. And she also requested that we would celebrate her life, and not mourn her death. I do so every year around these months of autumn and near the end of her earthly life (September 26th, 2007) through making the Chocolate Coconut Squares to remember the good times, not the sad, of love and memories that will never be forgotten.
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