It’s funny how column topics can change from one major life event to another.
I’ve written about the transforming experience of moving from a home after 20 years of accumulating stuff. That was good column fodder.
This week’s column was going to be about actually leaving our beloved home to the care of a newly married Luverne couple who will fill the rooms with new memories of their own.
These are the things columns are made of — things that are sometimes simple and thought provoking and things that are sometimes life-altering that bear mentioning.
And what seems column-worthy one day can be quickly overshadowed by a turn-of-life event that makes big things — like selling a home and building a home — seem insignificant.
That happened around 11 a.m. Thursday, May 28, right after we signed documents placing ownership of our home into the hands of Phil and Paige. It was a big moment that we’d been preparing for a long time.
I was already formulating a column in my mind when I learned my mom had a brain tumor.
The words are difficult to put into print. Mom has a brain tumor.
A gifted surgeon removed the tumor and now she has brain cancer.
Which is even more difficult to see in print.
And it’s not just a cancer that you zap with radiation and go on with your life.
As doctors put it, “This is an aggressive cancer” that will require aggressive treatment and a lifetime of monitoring. The rest of Mom’s life.
She’s 70, and in her words, she’s “had a good run.” She’s enjoyed near-perfect physical and mental health, thanks largely to her attention to nutrition and exercise.
So, dear readers, column topics change. And so do perspectives.
My four sisters and I have taken turns asking, “Why Mom?” and remarking, “Life isn’t fair.” And there have been tears.
But Mom, for her part, is choosing to see her glass as half full.
When learning of a fatal accident Saturday near Marshall, Mom remarked, “See? We don’t have it so bad. I’m still here. This poor family; everything has ground to a halt for them.”
Because she’s strong and in good health, she’s up for the battle. (I see now why we talk about “battling” cancer.) Already she came through brain surgery with flying colors.
Something tells me she’ll be a formidable opponent to this pesky disease. Optimism goes a long way toward successful recovery.
So does faith.
“I feel so blessed,” she keeps saying. “God has been so good to me.”
She said she’s seen his hand along the way, and it’s “done her heart good” to see her daughters all playing a role in her recovery.
Mom is a smidge claustrophobic, so I asked her how she managed the 35-minute MRI sessions.
“I sang hymns in my head,” she said.
Which ones? I was curious.
“Have Thine Own Way, Lord” and “Count Your Blessings.”
How this all turns out, she said, really isn’t up to us.
God gave her cancer, but she trusts his plan.
And so will we.