Dear Parents,
Look, I get it. You have raised a child for eighteen plus years and now can’t seem to find it in your realm of capability to take a step back. From changing diapers to drying tears after the first high school break up you were there. You probably attend PTO, were there for every extracurricular activity and checked grades online. You’re a regular at school were other adults are now on a first name basis with you, but seeing as I am an adult now, it's time to LET GO. It seems hopeless finding things to fill up your oh-so empty schedule. A quiet house is almost a nightmare for you. The idea of not busting through my bedroom door and drill sergeant-style inspecting every inch of my bedroom must send goosebumps up your spine, although, it’s a cool breeze to me. I could swear you implant cameras everywhere to keep tabs on me at all times, whether it be at the stop sign on Main street or in a loaf of bread at the grocery store. You’ve hired a network of incomparable spies that report back on every step I take. I get that you want me to be wrapped in bubble wrap and look both ways before I cross the street to be safe and keep my nose out of trouble, but how much trouble can I get in at Walmart at 3:15 pm on a Wednesday? I’m sure you’re going to miss twiddling your thumbs through the full-length presentations and arguments on why I should be able to go to Stacey’s house Friday night two weeks from now (because it took at least 5 to 7 buisness days for a response to come through.) Although this has prepared me for my new future as a lawyer, I can’t say I’m going to miss it much. I can see the heartbreak in your eyes because now you’re forced to hang up your police badge and can’t rub your hands together while you decide which of you should take the good cop and bad cop role on this episode of Law & Order while you drill me on why I am home 15 minutes after curfew (and it’s always because I hit every red light on the way home). As much as this letter critiques the way you brought me up I have learned a lot about responsibility and respect. It may hurt to let loose on the reigns, but you have prepared me for the world without any instruction guide. So even though I cried until the cows came home about not being able to go out both Friday and Saturday night, thank you. Thank you for raising me the best you could, I love you. “Don’t let your struggle become your identity” -Anonymous.
For almost two years now my mom has battled Small Cell Lung Cancer. She is one of the 222,500 approximate cases of lung cancer reported annually in the United States. With cancer, comes major changes: chemotherapy, radiation, experimental trials and alternative treatments. There’s been days where she’s stayed in bed all day and just whimper from the searing pain from all her treatments. There’s afternoons where the dinner table is missing a body in a chair because even the thought of food is too much for her to handle. There’s nights where I’ve woken up only to find her hunched over the toilet making the most primal of noises in between broken sobs. When people hear the word “cancer” this is what they imagine, and yes, while this is the blatant, ugly face of cancer, this is not all cancer has given my family and I. I have been given the opportunity to watch broken pieces of a family become glued whole for the greater good. I watch dysfunctional dynamics of my family machine subside to make things well oiled so we can work better together. With cancer comes a wake-up call, a reality check. With the heartache of cancer, comes this unbelieveable amount of love and support. We tend to find comfort in the form of hugs and heart to hearts on long car-rides, thing you would normally have taken for granted. Every moment becomes something special, for fear of there not being another one. A terminal illness has taught me that sometimes you have to grow up, even if I don’t necessarily want to. It has awoke me to the fact that that late nights at work followed by early mornings at vocational school is what it takes to make ends meet while still trying to fight for a future. It’s opened my eyes to the harsh reality of adulthood, where theres always a bill that needs to be paid and doctor’s appointment to drive to. Cancer teaches about being responsible with your money, and how important it is to save every penny you can, no matter how bad I may want to splurge on a Big Mac at the nearest McDonalds. I’ve learned the responsibility that takes some 10 years to finally comprehend. Cancer has forced me to laugh at the hard things. When I feel like crying as I take clippers to my own mother’s scalp, there will be little jokes about how there won’t be anymore fights about the nest of hair that would collect by the drain, or about how we’ll save so much money on shampoo and conditioner. Eventually the both of us down laughing, just like the hair. I eventually find that the old saying “laughter is the best medicine” is as true as can be. Although cancer takes lives and seemingly ruins them, it betters them in a lot of ways as well. It brings families and communities closer. I’ve learned to look at the rainbow instead of the rain, the clock is ticking and the treatments may not be working, but truthfully, I wouldn’t take it back. It has given me lessons that my family and I desperately needed and within the diagnosis found not only love, but ourselves. |
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