Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Proud Mama

This weekend, Feb. 18, to be exact, will be two years since my bilateral mastectomy. Two years I might not have had. Two years in which so much has happened: some bad, some sad, some downright ugly. But I don’t want to go there.
I’d rather focus on the amazing things I’ve been a part of that might not have been. Most of us don’t think this way unless we’ve gone through a traumatic event. It’s only then that we look back at the blessings that have come our way.
My daughter was in her junior year of college when I was diagnosed. Fortunately, I was here to see her graduate, with honors, from a college in New Jersey, with a degree and a job!
It wasn’t easy getting her back to the West Coast and getting her settled (it took three moves in five months) in Sacramento. My husband and I complained the whole way.
But nothing can compare to the pride we felt recently when we went to a fundraiser at her place of employment. The largest crab feed in the country - which it was, serving 1,800 hungry crab lovers - couldn’t take the place of all the “Your daughter is awesome” comments we heard. How often does a parent really have the chance to find out how well their kids have turned out?
I remember when she was in middle school. A sleepover invariably would end with the other parents telling us what a great kid she was. We’d look at each other, my husband and I, and wonder if they were talking about our kid??? Was this the same kid who ignored us, threw tantrums and never liked anything we suggested?
Now we were hearing her boss praise her work, how well she deals with the children, how much they appreciate her. The volunteers who help at the therapeutic riding center all knew our girl. They hugged us. They were all so pleased to meet this kid’s parents.
When did our little girl grow up to be so special? Where were we when this happened?
We still see the needy child who calls in a panic when she can’t find her new drivers’ registration we sent in the mail (she actually had to go Dumpster diving to find it in the bag of trash she’d thrown out).
We still see the child who calls to ask what she should do because her mouth is hurting or her shoulder is sore.
We still see the child who calls when her car window gets smashed and her purse is stolen (we won’t go into how many times we’ve discussed leaving the purse in the car).
We still see the child who calls when she’s offered a 401K with a match and asks if she should do it (we had to explain the concept of free money).
We still see the child whose $100 Fitbit she got for her birthday just a few months ago fell from its case and was lost. She’s fit to be tied. What should she do? (Before we could even think about it, she’d emailed the company, complained about the product’s quality and a new one was on the way!) But of course, not before getting us all riled up.
These are the “precious” moments the past two years have given me. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Knowing that somewhere along the way, we must have done something right, we must have done something that encouraged our little girl to grow up and give back, makes all those phone calls bearable.
Surviving cancer gave me the chance to see my daughter turn into someone whose special skills and innate love for horses and children turn into a daily miracle.
This mama couldn’t be more proud.