Her Breast Cancer Is Back.

After years of living the coveted title of a “breast cancer-free” life, my Mum shared with me in the car ride back from the airport that her radiologist told her that her breast cancer has come back.
And there is still a lot of unknowns.
Her radiologist said the cancer is small and nothing to worry about; but the radiologist also said that surgery is needed to remove the cancer and there is no radiation treatment is needed. My Mum has an appointment with her breast cancer doctor soon to clarify how malignant the cancer is (stage 1 to 4) and what the official next steps she should take.
First off, yes I am an American born son who calls his mother “Mum.” I personally enjoy the Brit’s endearing nickname for mother — it makes me feel “cultured”.
Secondly, I was put off by my reaction to this off-putting news in the car. Yes, a feeling of reverence for the seriousness of the situation swept over me, but this sweeping feeling did not go over my whole being — I could feel parts of me that were not enwrapped by the gravity of the simple cluster of words my Mum uttered to me. In those places where there was a lack of the sweeping feeling, I felt a deep desire to feel reverence or even sorrow at the thought of potentially losing my Mum earlier than I had expected to (and I hadn’t expected to lose her so any time would be “earlier”), but the desire was not fully satiated.
From this experience, I think one must truly learn how to “feel” correctly in certain situations, because any feeling in any situation does not speak to the truth, beauty, or gravity of the situation; but rather, it speaks to the well-cultivated dispositions and matured sensitivities of the viewer.
For example, if someone were to feel indifference or ecstatic joy when hearing the news of the recent Pennsylvania Grand Jury Findings in light of the sex-abuse scandal involving the Catholic Church, I think it is safe to say that that person was feeling wrong.
In his book “Abolition of Man,” C.S. Lewis puts it this way:
“Without the aid of trained emotions the intellect is powerless against the animal organism. / The heart never takes the place of the head: but it can, and should, obey it.”
In this light, emotions are like a horse that needs to be trained, and once trained then you are traverse the vastness of the world with greater ease and arrive at the destinations you desire to arrive at; otherwise your horse will take you to places you wish not to go and take routes that you do not wish to take. In a similar light with well-trained emotions that obey a well-formed mind as the horse, you are able to feel rightly in certain situations which may call you to virtuous action and a correct response to the situation at hand, which should be the place you wish you arrive at, rather than act wrongly and potentially hurt the other person or yourself.
For example, when my Mum told me the news of her cancer coming back, I could have simply said, “Cool,” and left it at that. She would have been hurt further by my indifference if I said, “that’s just how I feel and I can’t control how I feel,” subscribing to the belief that feelings are the basis of reality. They are a basis, but not the basis. But because I have been trying to form my emotions in line with the truth I have found (certainly not perfectly), I was able to feel a certain amount of reverence and a focus in the conversation which prompted me to ask further questions about her situation and the sensitivity she requires around sharing it.
Now you may be thinking that this is just simply common sense.
And you would be correct.
But I have heard from people all over the world that common sense is not so common anymore; and if I am to be quite honest of myself, I do not possess perfect common sense and I make terrible mistakes and hurt people that I wish I didn’t hurt — including myself. Even in this situation with my Mum, I didn’t think that I felt as I should have felt, the rushing feeling didn’t penetrate my whole being as it should have or would have if someone with more well-trained emotions would have reacted to the same situation. She’s the woman who birthed me and given me almost everything I have, I should have been wrapped up by this even if I was driving. There are plenty of times in movies or TV shows when the actor stops the car because a game changer came up in conversation — why didn’t that happen for me?
I’m not trying to be hard on myself, so please don’t try to console me. If you want to help me I would rather you “call me up” than “keep me down.”
Call me up to a better version of myself, because only a better and well-formed version of myself will truly help me in this period of unknowing surrounding the cancer of my Mum. In the end and when I’m alone, it’s only me, myself and I (and God). And I recognize that there is a time for engaging in sorrow, for crying and for simply “being there” for a friend, and I do not believe that this is one of those moments for me.
Call me up by telling me that it’s okay to cry, if you know from the truth you have gathered in your heart, that it’s okay to cry. Maybe I’m thinking wrongly about this whole situation — call me up, be a good friend and really let me know that it’s okay to cry because you love me, not because you want the satisfaction of consoling others. Perhaps I will give you the good feeling of crying in your arms; and if that happens, I will know that you are right and a good friend.
Call me up by making me face the fact that my mother has breast cancer —that it’s not just an ethereal idea like the flying spaghetti monster. That there are literally cells in my mother’s body that have the potential to kill her and take away the woman whom I love and carried me into the world. That even though I feel like I didn’t hurt and grow on account of her chemotherapy treatment when I was young, doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt.
That it doesn’t mean that she still had to go through the humiliating time of losing all of her hair, which was one of her most prized possessions, and had to wear wigs crafted from the hair of some stranger she never met.
That it doesn’t mean that she suffered hell on earth when the chemotherapy treatment rushed through her veins and all agony allowed itself to be present in her mind and body.
That it doesn’t mean that my Dad still had to live with the heartbreaking reality that he might lose the love of his life and have to raise two kids on his own.
There are many nights that my parents probably cried in their bathroom after they put their kids to bed to try and hide their pain —because what parent wants their children to see them in pain?
Call me up by making me recognize the direct connection of grace of my mother’s desire to hide her agonizing pain from me and the Virgin Mary’s painful desire to take the place of her dying son on the cross: that my mother was able to hide her deepest sufferings from me for my own sake and pursuit of happiness, and the Virgin Mary was not able to do that for her only son. Help me to see the excruciating cross my father bore for his whole family by carrying all of us on his already tired back as my mother laid in bed for hours after chemicals ran through her body.
Call me up by dragging me to the Queen of Heaven in order to seek her help and consolation in this time of unknown and painful realities hitting me like rain pounding the ground it falls upon.
Yes, I know she will probably be fine even though her cancer has come back — the radiologist reassured her. At least I hope she will. But nonetheless the thought of what I would say as a eulogy has crossed my mind.
The thought of who would come to her funeral came to my mind.
The thought of delaying the priesthood in order to care for and be with my dying mother came to my mind.
The thought of my sister at the funeral and how we would interact came up, especially since she normally doesn’t willingly interact with me on a day-to-day basis.
I’m not trying to be morbid, but this stream of consciousness is what I seek to capture to tell me future self to man up.
Cry.
Form your mind and emotions well.
And most of all pray.
________________________
Her breast cancer is back, and it sucks…
right now.
… “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5
Your brother,
Zac
