FAMILY | CANCER
Cancer: Your Ears Hear the Word and The Once Pretty Tree Turns Ugly Before Your Eyes
Shocked by the worst ending to 2022.
It’s all my mom wanted.
It continues to be all she desires.
To sit in her recliner and marvel at the beauty of her Christmas tree filled with little white lights, shiny garland, and goofy ornaments from her kids, grands, and greats, crafted for decades.
Early December family traditions included dressing the Christmas tree.
“Work from the inside out, Lisa, just like my father taught me and I passed on to you. It’s the proper way.”
Colored balls were nestled first and deep in the branches to save room to place memorable events, trinkets, and handmade treats for all eyes to see on the outer edges.
Her keen eye would detect an egregious error — two red balls inadvertently placed next to each other would be immediately repositioned.
This year everything changed.
She suffered from poor health throughout the year. Our family marveled at her fighting spirit and ability to keep bouncing back.
She eventually admitted to her diminished ability to do much on her own. Difficult to acknowledge for a proud woman.
She begrudgingly put out pleas for someone to hoist her tree from the garage. As week one passed, her dismay grew.
“It’s getting late and I really want to get my tree done.”
Most family members were sick or working and days went by.
My cousin Kristin and her husband Keith kindly put up her tree. They brought 4 or 5 boxes of ornaments from the garage to make it easier for my mom to putter and decorate.
My cousins delivered happiness with their unending kindness.
My mom could handle each treasure and reminisce as she found the perfect location, the perfect branch.
It’s all my mom wanted.
It continues to be all she desires.
And, at 84 years old, she deserves to experience joy.
So on that same day, December 12th, the tree was up and ready for her magic touch. Her mind switched gears, and she went to look for additional items in the garage — as if she could. Or ever should.
She fell.
After a series of falls in a mere few hours that night, EMTs had me pleading with my mom to let them transport her to the hospital to get checked.
I mentally flipped through the calendar and assumed it would be easy to start our drive north in early January. My mom needed help.
On December 12th, she was taken to the hospital.
She has yet to return.
Cancer will do that.
The doctors discovered a tumor on her T3 vertebra that caused a lesion. Lymphoma.
Diffuse large b cell lymphoma. In her blood. In her bones. Just how invasive this evil has become is still unfolding.
Anxiety abounds.
The dynamic duo, Kristin and Keith, returned to decorate my mom’s tree while I made the drive from Florida, and mom made the rounds through testing and medical departments.
Her discharge by Christmas became unattainable.
Ian and I brought Christmas to her.
But no tree.
Not her tree.
And, as I promised her, the tree remains ready for her return. The family will gather to celebrate in the manner she has always loved.
Whatever day that may be.
Fake it ’til we make it.
I am starting to resent the tree.
It represents a shocking diagnosis, with lives interrupted and altered forever.
I will love it again on the day she returns.
Every visitor to her new spot in rehab hears about the tree that waits at home for her.
I promised.
Her smile will light up, her eyes fill with happy tears, and she will once again feel the love of family surrounding her.
It’s just not the same in a hospital.
Cancer will do that.
To my Medium family of writers and readers: I am sorry. I have not been present and felt a need to share with everyone why I’ve been sidetracked.
I had every intention to help find my mom some care and assistance and a safe environment.
I never anticipated cancer.
So, my thanks for your loyalty. If you had a moment to read this snapshot of why my priorities shifted, I appreciate your support.
As I organize a million stories in my brain, you will read about my cousins Kristin and Keith again.
If you recognize any of your family in them, you’ve already met angels on earth.
I couldn’t have survived without their love.
I reread this story to remind myself of how happy we were right before we left for New Jersey. Oblivious to what loomed.
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