Note: I’m generally a pretty private person and rarely share much about my personal life. I’m doing this to share a bit about my Mom and how much her support has meant to me over the years.
This time around we’re bringing the HalfStack fun to New York, Vienna, London, and Phoenix. With less than two weeks until the event, we’re working on the last minute details to deliver an amazing event.
This year has been a bit different. Just a few weeks ago, my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. :(
This is my Mom’s third major bout with cancer (her first was thyroid cancer when I was about 5 or 6 years old) so it’s somewhat familiar territory, but it’s the first time in a long time she’s had to go through this.
As strong as I may be, it’s still a significant challenge to keep marching on, focusing on all the things that need to get done to deliver an amazing event, when my mind pauses to think about everything that truly matters.
I’m reminded how my Mom has always marched on and persevered, overcoming a form of cancer in the early 80s that was at the time an almost certain death sentence. Her explanation has always been that she needed to be there for her kids, so she found a way to survive, the classic story of the mind taking control and making things happen.
As my Mom was recovering from her surgery yesterday, instead of wanting to talk about how she was feeling, she kept asking me about HalfStack, about how preparations were going (me: really well), how ticket sales were going for New York and Vienna (me: slow, developers are notoriously last minute), and more. My Mom, in her anesthesia-induced state, was more focused on giving me suggestions for how to get people to get their HalfStack tickets, which made me laugh.
I feel like I’m rambling, avoiding working on some of the last minute conference preparations, but it helps to step back and reflect, remember how short and precious life can be.