
Image courtesy of canstockphoto.com/Bialasiewicz
Yesterday was my mom’s birthday and a few weeks back was the anniversary of when she passed away. So, she’s been on my mind lately. In 2004, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It’s a devastating disease with a horrible prognosis. I flew to Boston immediately so I could go with my mom for her first visit to her oncologist. One of the first questions my mom asked was “how long?” The answer: 5–6 months.
Receiving news like this is heartbreaking and different people handle it in different ways. As the patient, my mom was stalwart and accepting right from the very beginning. Ever the pragmatist, she believed she had lived a long life; and if this was the hand that was dealt to her then so be it. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t depressed. She just accepted it.
As her daughter, I was devastated. I didn’t want to watch my mom suffer through any of it. But as a caretaker, I never wanted her to know how affected I was by it. I promised myself right from the very beginning that no matter what happened, I would not look back on this time with any regret. I would be there for her, I would stand strong, and I would take care of her the best way I could even if I was falling apart inside.