Inspired by Mom
Amy O'Neill
January 05, 2005
When I was 6 years old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.
It's a scary thing to hear, but to a child all it really means is Mommy's going to be gone for a little while. My memories from that time are few: hospital visits, neighbors bringing dinners over so she wouldn't have to cook, cards and flowers throughout the house and the image of my mom without hair. But the impact of what was truly going on didn't register for me.
For five years after my mom's mastectomy, she was in remission. For most, the five-year mark means cancer-free, but it was at the five-year mark my mom had a recurrence. The breast cancer had spread to another part of her body and she had to undergo a stem-cell transplant to save her life.
This was around the time of junior high for me. I know I am not the only one who doesn't look back with fond memories of junior high school, and one would think having a parent with cancer would have made it worse. But by this time I had learned to live with it.
For 16 years, my mom has battled this disease, and so far, she has always come out on top.
And it wasn't until I came to college that I realized what having cancer really means: not everyone lives. I had always pushed this fact out of my head. I never told people except for close friends that my mom was sick because of the way people would treat me afterward. Besides, she didn't look sick -- so how would anyone know?
I never treated my mom as if she were sick, and I think that's partly because of the way she persevered. I overheard her tell someone recently that what has kept her fighting for her life was always having a goal.
When my brother and I were young, her goal was to live to raise her children. As we were going through high school, her goal was to get her college degree, which she accomplished after my freshman year at Chico State. Right now, her goal is just to keep fighting. The older I get the more amazed I am by her.
I can see this incredible strength in her now that I never saw growing up, and I only hope this strength rubs off on me.
October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and my mom told me that she and my dad would be going on a five-mile walk through Golden Gate Park to raise money. I could hear the surprise and delight in her voice when I told her I wanted to go, too. When I woke up at home at 7:30 a.m. on Oct. 23, it was raining outside. The wet weather wasn't motivating me to get up, but I'd said I would go and I knew how much it meant to her, so I went.
Seeing the thousands of other women, men and children who came out that day reinforced for me how important participating in this walk really was and how important acknowledgement of this disease is, not just during the month of October. When we got to the finish line an hour and a half later, we were soaking wet and couldn't wait to get in the warm car.
But as I watched my mom walk to the finish line with people all around her cheering, I saw a smile on her face as she looked at me standing there.
I knew I really was finished being naïve about her disease and finished being ungrateful to still have her in my life.
When we left that day she gave me a hug and said, "Thank you for coming," and I realized she was the one to be thanked -- not just for fighting for us and for herself, but for surviving.
Amy O'Neill can be reached at
aoneill2@mail.csuchico.edu
It's a scary thing to hear, but to a child all it really means is Mommy's going to be gone for a little while. My memories from that time are few: hospital visits, neighbors bringing dinners over so she wouldn't have to cook, cards and flowers throughout the house and the image of my mom without hair. But the impact of what was truly going on didn't register for me.
For five years after my mom's mastectomy, she was in remission. For most, the five-year mark means cancer-free, but it was at the five-year mark my mom had a recurrence. The breast cancer had spread to another part of her body and she had to undergo a stem-cell transplant to save her life.
This was around the time of junior high for me. I know I am not the only one who doesn't look back with fond memories of junior high school, and one would think having a parent with cancer would have made it worse. But by this time I had learned to live with it.
For 16 years, my mom has battled this disease, and so far, she has always come out on top.
And it wasn't until I came to college that I realized what having cancer really means: not everyone lives. I had always pushed this fact out of my head. I never told people except for close friends that my mom was sick because of the way people would treat me afterward. Besides, she didn't look sick -- so how would anyone know?
I never treated my mom as if she were sick, and I think that's partly because of the way she persevered. I overheard her tell someone recently that what has kept her fighting for her life was always having a goal.
When my brother and I were young, her goal was to live to raise her children. As we were going through high school, her goal was to get her college degree, which she accomplished after my freshman year at Chico State. Right now, her goal is just to keep fighting. The older I get the more amazed I am by her.
I can see this incredible strength in her now that I never saw growing up, and I only hope this strength rubs off on me.
October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and my mom told me that she and my dad would be going on a five-mile walk through Golden Gate Park to raise money. I could hear the surprise and delight in her voice when I told her I wanted to go, too. When I woke up at home at 7:30 a.m. on Oct. 23, it was raining outside. The wet weather wasn't motivating me to get up, but I'd said I would go and I knew how much it meant to her, so I went.
Seeing the thousands of other women, men and children who came out that day reinforced for me how important participating in this walk really was and how important acknowledgement of this disease is, not just during the month of October. When we got to the finish line an hour and a half later, we were soaking wet and couldn't wait to get in the warm car.
But as I watched my mom walk to the finish line with people all around her cheering, I saw a smile on her face as she looked at me standing there.
I knew I really was finished being naïve about her disease and finished being ungrateful to still have her in my life.
When we left that day she gave me a hug and said, "Thank you for coming," and I realized she was the one to be thanked -- not just for fighting for us and for herself, but for surviving.
Amy O'Neill can be reached at
aoneill2@mail.csuchico.edu
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