Survivor

My mom has breast cancer.

It is so strange to read that on the screen...

She was diagnosed this week with stage 1, very small and centralized, breast cancer. It's about the best you could hope for as far as devastating news goes, though the “c” word conjures up terrifying stories and images.

But is also invokes inspirational tales of the strength of women who fight this hideous disease with grace and courage and faith, one of whom my mom is about to become.

Mom is a strong, healthy, happy woman, and I'm certain that she'll survive this. Honestly. I have no doubt of that. Not one shred of hesitation.

I didn’t feel like this for her biopsy. I was worried about that – just had a feeling. I blamed it on my alarmist mentality, but who knows. This time, though, my feeling is strong and unshakable that this will be but a blip on her radar, that she’ll proudly call herself a cancer survivor, throw herself deeper into the Relay for Life that she’s already been a part of for many years, and go onto help and inspire women who find themselves in similar shoes for years to come.

My certainty of a positive outcome doesn’t diminish my anger and heartbreak that she has to go through this. I hate cancer. And I hate that it’s attacking my mom. My mom. I would like to meet cancer in a dark alley someday and show it what I think of it. I can’t write how sorely I hate cancer, since I gave up cussing for Lent. But believe me when I say my loathing runs to a deep and dangerous place.

Especially now that my mother has come face to face with it. I’m certain she’s got enough moxie to kick cancer’s...rear end (can you sense my self control here?)…all by herself. I’m just glad she doesn’t have to, as we’re all behind her, supporting her, cheering her on, praying for her, eyeing down that dastardly cancer alongside her doctors.

Mom, just think that now you can add one more word to your already lengthy and impressive resume, which has you rated as the very finest: mother, wife, grandma, daughter, sister, cousin, niece, aunt, friend, mentor, teacher…and now survivor.

I love you, Mom.