Ten Years

It's been ten years. Ten years ago this week, Mom finished her treatment and became a breast cancer survivor. For good. From start to finish, she handled the situation with her usual good humor, poise, selflessness, and hope.

Her older daughter, on the other hand, did not exhibit the same qualities. Well, maybe outwardly I did. But on the inside, I was terrified. I know it may sound naive and silly, but when Mom was diagnosed in February 1998, my first thought was, "My parents don't get cancer. Other people's moms and dads do sometimes, but mine don't." I was conscious of not wanting to appear too much of an emotional wreck to Mom and Dad, because I figured they had enough to deal with.

But I was scared and sad and wondered what would happen. I think most of me believed Mom would be okay, but there was a part of me that worried the worst would come to pass.

A few days ago, I mentioned that I had really suffered nothing as a result of breast cancer. And I maintain that's true.

But I also am the daughter of a breast cancer survivor. And that means I understand what it means to know that fear and that sorrow.

Because I want others to never know that fear, I continue to walk. And I will do so until breast cancer is nothing more than a memory.