Mom was a fighter. She was first diagnosed with breast cancer 26 years ago, when she was 40 years old. She fought like crazy to get better and have the best life she could have. She was devastated when I was diagnosed with the same disease. She could handle being a breast cancer survivor, but to have me following in her footsteps at the young age of 27 was almost more than she could bear. We got through that horrible year of surgery and chemotherapy together.
Mom and I walked the Y-Me Walk downtown Chicago a few years ago. She had found out not long before that her cancer had metastasized to her bones.
Before she died, Mom told me that she didn’t want to give up. Her cancer had mutated into a monster that just couldn’t be controlled. One of the doctors told my dad that her cancer had been a puppy that turned into a pit bull. We were all hoping that there would be another treatment, something else that she could do. Mom would have had chemotherapy in a minute. But there was nothing left. The cancer was too aggressive.
Mom, you never gave up.