Cancer can be a blessing.
I read those words in Brenda Winter’s column a year ago when she wrote about her cancer diagnosis.
Now I know what she means. … It took me awhile though.
My mom was diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer on May 28, and I can assure you, I didn’t consider it a blessing.
It’s a cruel curse. A slap in the face to a woman who has lived her life so dedicated to good physical and spiritual health.
It isn’t fair, and certainly isn’t a blessing.
Selfishly, I thought about what my life would be like without Mom in it. The older I get, the more I need my mother.
Maybe it’s because the older I get, the more I appreciate wisdom that comes with age. Mom’s older and wiser, and I lean on her to navigate life’s troubled waters.
But then, it’s not about me. And it’s not up to me.
And Mom, in her 70-year-old wisdom, reminds me it’s not even about her. “Life is so temporary,” she says. “So fleeting.”
Of course she’s right, when you consider eternity.
But I’m human — an earthly human with earthly wants and needs. Like needing and wanting my mother.
It’s not that Mom’s happy about her brain tumor. She’s losing patience with treatment and would like to wake up with energy to match her crazy-long to-do lists for the day.
But she said she’s blessed the tumor was operable. Other glioblastoma patients aren’t so fortunate.
She said she’s blessed with a strong, healthy body that’s equipped to fight the cancer. Weaker patients can’t tolerate the radiation and chemotherapy.
She said she’s blessed with a husband and five daughters for her treatment support.
We took turns at Mom’s side with appointments and information gathering (especially when the tumor interfered with her reading).
And here’s where cancer became a blessing.
Those early doctor visits were intense, but in the waiting rooms between consults, we had time to ourselves. And we had time together in the car to Sioux Falls, and we ate lunch together in the Sanford cafeteria.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent that much one-on-one time with my parents — outside of the boisterous gatherings of our extended families.
It was a blessing.
With a treatment plan in place, Mom and Dad now commandeer the daily trips for radiation.
Their daughters, meanwhile, arrange for more frequent family gatherings.
Because tomorrow holds no guarantees for any of us, and it seems important to spend as much time as possible with the ones we love.
Cancer has a way of offering this kind of perspective.
… to focus on what and who’s important and let go of details and obligations that get in the way. Living with this kind of clarity is a blessing in itself.
I don’t wish for anyone to have cancer, but I do wish for everyone to live as if they have cancer … and the blessings that come with it.